


In the Lion's Den

by ohmytheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn Lives, Catwin - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU) Tyrion does not kill Tywin Lannister before fleeing King's Landing and the Freys do not kill Catelyn Stark at the Red Wedding. Instead, Catelyn is sent to King's Landing where Tywin comes up with a plan to bring back the North that will not please Catelyn. However, she is stronger than she looks, but things don't always go according to plan and strange things happen. The best revenge is to survive, but what happens when it stops feeling like revenge and more like living?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr, where I first started posting this, it's named "The Winter's Song", but on ff.net, I renamed it "In the Lion's Den". I don't really like the original title because I basically just came up with something at random and posted it, thinking no one would read it. I was wrong. Now I must rue the day I didn't put any thought into the title. Also, Catelyn/Tywin might seem like the most crack-filled ship ever, but... Well, it is, but I'm the captain of Catwin these days.

It had been a long time since she’d stayed and slept in such comfortable quarters. Had it been since Winterfell, during a life she could barely remember ever living? Only thirty-seven, and her bones ached, and not from her time on the road. Her room in the Red Keep was much brighter than the bedroom she’d shared with Ned, but it felt colder too, despite the heat of the southern sun. There were no warmth of the hot springs under Winterfell and no Ned to warm her bed, just herself and the ghosts of her family.

The first three days, after she’d been shoved unceremoniously into the room and locked in, she had sat in a plush chair by the window, staring out unseeingly, picking at her food and refusing to speak to anyone. There had been no time or place to mourn since Ned’s death, not for him or for their daughters or sons, but now that the war was over and had taken all of her sweet children, grieving was the only thing left for her to do. She didn’t see King’s Landing, the buildings or the landscape outside. She had seen Robb swordplaying with Rodrik Cassel; Sansa learning how to dance; Arya looking mischievous with a stick behind her back; Bran climbing a tower; Rickon running and laughing through the halls; and Ned, her dear Ned, lying in bed next to her, his chest slowly rising and falling, letting her know that they were all alive.

(But they weren’t. Everyone was dead and these ghosts would never bring her warmth.)

Catelyn Stark had broken down the fourth day, crawling weakly to the large bed and slipping under the covers where she could weep quietly. The next two days were spent in bed. She wrapped herself up in a protective cocoon of blankets and grief and cried every night until she had nothing left in her. The tears began to vanish and she began to come out of it after the first week passed, but she felt completely hollow. Grief had swallowed her whole and when it was done with her, it spit her out, leaving her as just a shade.

By the end of the second week, Catelyn pulled herself out of bed and slipped into a cool dressing gown. When one of the maids came in with her meal, Catelyn asked for a bath. It had been far too long, since she’d first arrived and they’d washed Robb’s blood off of her. An hour later, she was submerged in steaming water. It scalded her, but she didn’t care, preferring to let the pain wash over her skin. It was the first time she’d felt something since Robb’s lifeless body had been dragged away from her. They dressed her in a beautiful blue southern-styled dress, something she hadn’t worn since she’d married Ned as a girl at Riverrun. Her family’s colors, they’d said, the Tully colors, but she had been transformed into a Stark over the past two years, cold and unforgiving as winter itself.

While she was brushing her long red hair into something much more manageable than it had been for the past months, she heard the door creek open behind her. When she turned to see who it was, about to tell a maid to leave her be, Catelyn was stunned to find herself looking at Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, the man who had concocted the plan that murdered her oldest son.

At first, Catelyn didn’t know what to do, frozen in place, the brush in her hand still against her hair. For a wild moment, she pictured herself throwing the brush at the older Lord, screaming that he was a murderer and to get out, rushing to him and clawing his eyes out. She thought of how they would drag her away and lock her in chains. How there would be blood on her hands again and on the clean dress they’d given her. She wanted him to hurt just as much as she did. She’d heard that his son, the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, had fled in the night after murdering the first boy king Joffrey. She knew that he’d lost nephews to a furious Karstark. There was some loss in his family, but not enough, not anywhere close to Catelyn’s, and she wanted him to suffer just as much as she was. She wanted him to burn and die in agony. She wanted to take his dagger from his side and stab him in the eye with the pointy end.

But Catelyn did no such thing. Instead, she set the brush down, dropped her hands to her side, bowed her head, and said, “My lord,” in a soft whisper. It pained her to speak to him like this. She didn’t even know why she was, except for the fact that perhaps keeping like this, remaining proper, was the only thing that tied her back to the world when all other strings had been severed.

“Do you like the dress?” Of all the things for Tywin to say, Catelyn had not expected that. She raised her eyes to him, a slightly puzzled expression on her face. He shut the door behind himself and stepped closer towards her. “I made sure it was Tully colors. It will need to be taken in to fit you more properly, but I thought you might...appreciate it.”

Catelyn mulled over what to say. She had not thought that Tywin Lannister would pick out her outfits especially, but she certainly wasn’t appreciative of it. “It is beautiful,” she finally settled on saying, silently adding, _But it will not bring me my children back._

“There are things we need to discuss,” Tywin stated, no longer beating around the bush. Yes, she preferred it this way. She didn’t have the desire to dance around with all the proper politeness. “I’ve come to broker a truce with you.”

“With me?” It wasn’t a question so much as incredulity.

“Yes, a truce, with you.” Tywin stepped towards her, proud and unrelenting. This was a man who was used to getting his way; and Catelyn was a woman that knew how to deal with men like that.

She refused to move, even if he was trying to intimidate her. She had never been a timid maid; she would not be one now. Besides, she mused, she had nothing left to lose. What else could they take from her? Here, the only person they could hurt was her, and she did not care about that any longer. “Why would you want to do that? Why would _I_ want to do that? You killed my son, kept my daughter hostage, lost the other, burned my father’s land and tortured his people. I have no peace to strike with you.”

“It is not your peace that I seek, Lady Stark,” Tywin explained, “but the peace of the North and the Riverlands.” She pressed her lips together. The North had only been her home when she gave birth to her children and came to love Ned. She didn’t know what it was to her now, but she had started to lose pieces of it with Bran’s and Rickon’s deaths until it vanished completely with Robb’s. And while the Riverlands had been the place of her birth, she felt a foreigner there as well. “The Riverlands are a disaster and there is no peace in the North. It has become a wild mess, nearly as bad as beyond the Wall. Most of the families there have sworn fealty to the Iron Throne, and Roose Bolton is now the Warden of the North, but the hold is tumultuous at best. I need to solidify it, before winter takes over completely.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” Catelyn asked, feeling edgy. She had a suspicion about what he was going to say, but she didn’t want to believe her thoughts. They were absurd. There was nothing she could do to help contain the North. It had always been wild and untamable. Surely he knew that there was nothing a woman could do to bring them to their knees, especially a woman that did not want to do anything of the sort to begin with.

Tywin stood there, for a moment, looking her in the eyes. He was a cold man, she knew that, but two could play at that game. If she did not want to lose herself in her grief, she could lose herself in her anger. “The Tullys will hold no power in the Riverlands anymore, once Riverrun is taken from the Blackfish, but that does not mean they have lost the respect of the people. You also married a Stark. You cannot get any higher in the North. You walked with the men; you spent time in their camps; you broke bread with them. There is not a woman in the North that commands as much admiration and respect as you. Even Jaime said he had never seen a woman stronger than you.”

“What do you want?” she demanded. “No more games, no more flattery, Lord Tywin. Tell me.”

“I want your hand in marriage, Lady Catelyn. If I have that, then perhaps the rest of the men that still struggle against me will finally give up and bend to my will.” Without thinking, Catelyn went to slap him in the face, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her closer to him. “You can do this willingly, or you will find out what your daughter Sansa went through.” She struggled against him, but he only tightened his grip. Once she realized it was futile, she stopped fighting and glared at him heatedly. “You may not realize it now, but this will benefit both of us. We both lost the one we loved. You have lost your children; and I need an heir. Peace will be a wedding gift, so that we may prepare for the coming winter.”

Catelyn finally jerked herself from his grasp. “Do you think I will just go to bed with the man that killed my son?”

“I think you will do your duty and whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of your remaining family,” Tywin replied coolly. She wanted to strike him again, but kept her fury at bay. “If you do this, then your brother Edmure will be pardoned; your uncle Ser Brynden as well, as long as he gives up his hold of Riverrun. We’ll even give Edmure a little bit of land in place of Riverrun, so that he may continue to be a Lord. I heard a rumor that his Frey wife is with child. Will you choose to protect them or keep your pride? What are the words: Family, Duty, Honor? Family and Duty come before Honor, it appears.”

Tywin knew as well as Catelyn that she would. Her brother and uncle were all that she had left. Her sister Lysa was hiding in the Vale, supposedly with Petyr at her court, and had proven to be no sister or friend to her. Sansa had vanished in the night and Arya was presumed dead. She didn’t think she was strong enough to handle being the only one remaining from two once proud families.

“I will leave you to consider your answer.” Tywin walked to the door, but turned before stepping out of it. “You have one night,” he told her, “to decide if you will fight or follow.” And then he left, leaving Catelyn alone with her fears and thoughts.


	2. The Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters on here are a lot longer than the ones I posted on tumblr, partly because the ones on tumblr were so small and partly because it just flows better. I didn't realize it would be this long when I started it. Oops.

That night proved to be cold and infuriating. Catelyn first paced the bedroom, thinking about how much she wanted to kill Tywin Lannister on the spot. How dare he? How dare he even begin to consider such a proposal? She took a goblet that a maid filled with wine earlier and threw it across the room at the door, trying to pretend that he was still standing there, and then watched as the wine seeped down the door like blood. Her children’s blood. Her husband’s blood.

And now she was going to be married to the man that had had a hand in their deaths.

Tywin had made it clear that she was not going to be given a choice. He was merely extending a courtesy of sorts, letting the idea grow in her mind, giving her time to think about whether or not she would fight him, as he said. Catelyn was not the sort of woman who just gave up though. She was a fighter and always had been. This marriage, even though forced upon her, would not break her. It would only add fuel to the fire burning inside of her. It would be difficult, but marriage was a battle in itself, as she had found out as a young girl.

She had fought her way through Robert’s Rebellion, alone and forgotten. After Brandon’s death, her sudden marriage to Ned, and the realization that she was already pregnant, Catelyn had felt completely desolate. She had worried about Ned, tried not to picture him being burned alive like Brandon, but it had been difficult. A part of her had been excited to see him; she had been proud to show him that she’d already produced him a son. What a good, young wife, she was, she couldn’t help but think. And then Ned came back with his bastard son, proof to her that he hadn’t cared about her, that she would only be duty in his bed, and that he didn’t need her more than he needed his sword or a whore. It had been eye-opening.

Of course, things had slowly mended between them. She had grown to love Ned, especially when she would see him play with Robb. Ned had been the North in person, but he had warmed like the hot springs when with little Robb. When Sansa was born, and she’d been scared that Ned would be displeased with a girl, she had felt a burst of love and relief when Ned had picked up his daughter and proclaimed her to be a gift from the Old Gods, happy and true.

This marriage would be different. Catelyn would not battle to love her husband; she would have to battle to not kill him. Though she had been hurt by Ned, she had never strayed from her duties as a wife. He had apologized to her, though he had offered her no explanations or justifications. Tywin would be different. He would never apologize to her. He would not wipe the tears from her eyes should they appear during their wedding. He would not help her wash the shame away after she did her duties in bed. He would not hold her gently in the night if she struggled to conceive. He would not join her in the sept when she prayed to the seven about Sansa or her lost children. She would be with him, but she would be alone.

 _I will be as strong and cold as the North, Ned,_ Catelyn thought, looking out the window. _You taught me well enough._

She knew what she must do – what she had to do. It terrified her, to say the least. Technically speaking, she was going to marry her daughter’s father-in-law; she would become Sansa’s mother twice over. But if that were the case, then the seven would have granted her Sansa’s life and presence, and she could intensely mother her daughter. Instead, there was no one.

The next morning, Catelyn found yet another beautiful gown hung on the door of her bedroom. One of the maids must have slipped it in some time in the early hours of the morning after Catelyn had fitfully fallen asleep. She put it on, carefully did her hair in the old southern ways she’d done as a girl, and examined her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. She wanted to look proud and unbroken, but there were limits to her strength. By all accounts, her pride had been shattered and she was more broken into pieces at well. Bits of her were left in the burned ruins of Winterfell, the Twins, and the Riverlands. Her whole life was scattered across Westeros, and no gown or marriage would piece her together again.

When the maid entered again with her breakfast, Catelyn startled the girl by sitting on the bed waiting for her. The poor girl nearly dropped the tray of food, but Catelyn jumped and hurried to catch her. “M-m’lady, I did not expect to be awake.”

Catelyn felt a pang of shame. Since she had crawled into the comforts of the bed, she had not gotten out of bed until well after midday. There had been some days when she had pretended to be asleep when the maids came in, so they would not disturb her. Still, she gave the girl a soft look. “If you could be so kind, please tell Lord Tywin that I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, m’lady.” The girl set the tray down on the table, curtseyed, and then left the room. Though she had never been much of a drinker, Catelyn poured herself a healthy glass of wine. She sipped, resisting the childish urge to dump its entire contents into her stomach, and waited.

Thirty minutes later, the door opened and a knight in white armor stepped inside. He was one of the Kingsguard, though she did not recognize him. She couldn’t help but wonder if this man had laid a hand against her daughter, something she had been told about by one of the serving girls. Gone were the days when the Kingsguard were filled with men of honor. She did not hide her revulsion. “The Hand will see you in his chambers,” he said, his voice rough and lukewarm. Perhaps he made a move to hold her by the arm, to look chivalrous, but she blew past him, her shoes clipping on the stone floor. She could hear the sound of his armor clinking after her. She was embarrassed to not know where the Tower of the Hand was exactly, but the knight caught up with her easily enough and guided her the rest of the way without her having to admit it.

When they reached Lord Tywin’s room, Catelyn was sure that she had lost all of her resolve. She wanted to run back to the bedroom and hide under the blankets. She could not do this. She could not handle this. She could not live like this, not while her sons and daughters and husband and parents were dead, all dead, and she was alive and breathing and for what purpose. So she could marry her enemy? Were the gods so cruel?

A deep breath shuddered through her body as the door opened and she was pushed in by the knight. When the door shut behind her, she knew that she had come to the end. Tywin Lannister was no less imposing in his court clothes than in his armor. He was dressed in the Lannister colors, golden and red like blood. He was a striking figure that was not to be trifled with. The court and small council, after all, were just fields of battle. She wished Ned had had his prowess in politics, but Ned had been an honorable man. There was no room for honorable men in politics.

“Lady Catelyn,” he said, turning to look upon her, “I had not expected you so early.”

“I’m sure you did not expect me to come at all.” _Soften your words,_ her conscience warned, but Catelyn paid it no heed. She would bend to Tywin, as she had not been given a choice, but she would not break. Not for him at any rate. “I accept the offer. I will not fight it.”

Though he did not smile necessarily, Tywin looked pleased. “It gladdens me to hear that.” He poured two glasses of wine, walked to her, and handed her one. The goblet was cold in her hands. “You must understand that this is for the best of Westeros. There are many wounds between us that will not be mended, but perhaps through our peace, there can be a peace through the land.”

“What if peace doesn’t come for the Riverlands and North like you hope?” Catelyn asked, trying to mask her fear. She did not want to think of what would happen should this plan fail. There was a chance he would lay the blame on her. She had spent the better part of the night wondering about this aspect. “What if this incenses them more or if they do not even care? I am just a woman. If the North and the Riverlands did not bend to you, why do you think they will bend to me?”

“You will tell them to – or rather, you will beg them to. Reason with them. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me” – it took everything in Catelyn not to hiss at the word – “then they must too.” He never took his eyes away from hers. They were close now, just a foot apart. She could see him clearly now, his intelligent eyes green like moss, his face serious yet cunning. “You will never forgive me, I know that, nor do I expect you to. But all the injustices that the North seek to avenge were done to _you_. All the wrongs they fight to right were done to _you_. If you cast those away, if you even pretend to let go of them and move on, then what does the North have left to fight for but the ghosts of your sons and husband?”

Catelyn gripped the cup tightly. “But what if it fails?” she asked in a whisper.

“Then it fails,” Tywin said simply, “and I will smash them until they can only stand on their knees.” It was as much as Catelyn feared. She thought of Edmure and how proud he’d been when he’d held Tywin’s army at bay, all those months ago. It felt like those days had never happened. Unexpectedly, he put a finger under her chin and lifted it. “No harm will befall you. Once you are my wife, you will be treated with respect. I saw what my grandson did to your daughter, when they were still betrothed. I know you consider me a monster, but I will not beat you or put my guards on you. You have suffered enough for your disloyalty.”

 _Disloyalty,_ he called it. The war her son raged against his family and the Iron Throne. _Suffered enough,_ he said of the deaths of her family. If anything, she had suffered too much. The cost would be high, she had known, but the seven, war, and Tywin Lannister had taken everything from her, even her ability to mourn as a widow.

“Even if this does not bring peace to the lands, our marriage will benefit us in other ways,” he continued. He spoke so exact; there was not a drop of emotion in his words. It made her head spin or maybe it was the wine on an empty stomach. “With Jaime in the Kingsguard and Tyrion on the run, I need an heir for Casterly Rock. Cersei refuses to leave her children. You’ve had five children, all healthy when born.” And all dead now. “Another child will not replace the ones you lost, but it may help you heal.”

“Nothing will heal the loss of my children,” Catelyn told him coldly, setting the glass down. “Ask your daughter how she feels or your brother Ser Kevan Lannister, and then we will talk about my children.”

Tywin paused for a second, looking her in the eyes, and then took a sip of wine. “I cannot bring your children back,” he finally said, “no one can, not the seven or the old gods your late husband followed.” He set his goblet down next to hers. “Should your daughter Sansa be found, she will be pardoned, as a peace offering from me to you. My daughter seems to believe that she and Tyrion plotted Joffrey’s murder, but from what I saw of the girl…”

Not her Sansa, no. The look on Catelyn’s face, betraying her, seemed to convince Tywin of what he himself was already thinking. She too had heard the whispered rumors that Sansa and Tyrion Lannister had poisoned the boy king, but she knew that, no matter how far Sansa had been pushed and tortured, she would not be capable of a cold-blooded murder like Joffrey’s.

Catelyn turned away from him, unable to mask the growing emotions inside of her. She didn’t want him to know just how weak she felt. She imagined that a show of weakness was terribly unattractive to Tywin Lannister; and though by no means was she trying to be attractive, she couldn’t bear the thought of him looking down on her or being disgusted with her in any way. She would not break in front of him. Swallowing the rock in her throat as discreetly as she could, she asked, “When will the wedding be held?”

“In three weeks.”

She turned to him questioningly. “I thought it would be sooner.”

“In a hurry to be a married woman again, are we?”

Catelyn stiffened. “You jest, my lord. I would sooner die a widow than marry you, but it seems as if I have naught the choice.”

Tywin allowed himself the smallest of smirks, but then turned serious again very quickly. “You need to announce the wedding, the treaty, and your forgiveness to Westeros. Before the wedding happens, people need to know why it is happening. There will be more rebellions to squash. Ravens must be sent as far as can be – to the rebellious Riverlands, the uncontrollable North, even the cold shoulder that has become the Vale.” Catelyn did not want to think of the Vale, but Tywin seemed to already know what was crossing her mind. “The lack of response from your sister when your family went to war and disarray was very curious indeed.”

“She is afraid.”

“She is _weak_.” Tywin looked at her in a way that made Catelyn wary; it was as if he was sizing her up, like she was the prey and he was the predator. It made her skin flush. “You are…very different, Lady Catelyn. Not a warrior in the sense that most men think of, but of the mind.” That smirk quirked his lips again. “It would seem as if my daughter has been trying to be you and failing. You were not the Queen Regent for your son Robb?”

“No, he was a man grown, even at a young age. The North hardened him – as did the murder of his father.”

Tywin pressed his lips together. “Your son was foolish, but he was wiser than my grandson. He needed a Regent, but my daughter knows half of what you do about politics.” Catelyn was surprised at his blunt honesty, which he seemed to catch onto almost immediately. “If this marriage is to work, even if it is just a political sham, we are going to have to be honest with each other, even if it means professing hate or disdain. We may not care for or love one another, but there will be no discord between us. We’re civilized people, Lady Catelyn, in a very uncivilized world.”

She didn’t want to tell him what she thought of that. Civilized people did not do what he did. They did not order their mad dog to burn lands, rape women, torture men, and kill children. They did not plot a boy’s murder when their own son was still in the grasp of that boy’s men. They did not callously put a woman who had lost their entire family in a position like this. No matter what Tywin told her, he would always be a monster to her; nothing would change that.

“May I return to my room?” Catelyn asked, beginning to feel weak and woozy. Her stomach was turning far too much to be comfortable, and she put her hand on the table to hold herself up.

“There’s just one more thing,” Tywin announced. Catelyn resigned herself again, raising her tired eyes to him. “At the wedding, you’ll be wearing Tully colors.”

Catelyn wasn’t sure why that upset her so much, considering she was a Tully, but she’d put on the colors and the honor when she took the Stark name and became Ned’s wife. “I’ve been wearing the Stark colors for sixteen years; I gave birth to five, Northern Stark children. I have not…”

“You are a Tully, Lady Catelyn, just as you were born and always have been,” Tywin told her, unmoving and uncaring. “I know how you work; I’ve seen how you live. You have always lived by the Tully words – Family, Duty, Honor.”

_But winter comes for all in the end._


	3. The Apology

In the next few weeks, Catelyn had found that she had more freedom. She’d spent two days in her room, not even thinking about it, until one day she randomly tried the door and it opened. When she’d peered outside the door, she’d found that there wasn’t even a guard watching over her. She hadn’t known what to make of it at first. Certainly there had been no thoughts on escaping, considering it would’ve been ridiculous, but she’d felt it strange. The third day, she ventured out and started for the sept. No one stopped or followed her. She passed people, but they all seemed to ignore her, as if she was a ghost.

Once she reached the sept, Catelyn couldn’t help but hesitate when trying to decide which candle to light. She had always connected with the Mother, even as a child in Riverrun. After her own mother had passed, she had lit candles to the Mother and would send quiet prayers to her mother’s spirit. All of her hopes and dreams went to the Mother that she never had growing up. But now… All of her babies, her beautiful babies – they were all gone, all except for Sansa, who had vanished into thin air like Arya and would probably never be returned to her. When Catelyn looked at the Mother now, all she saw was Death.

There was the Crone, who could guide her with wisdom. Catelyn needed all the help she could get; and she needed the light to guide her through this darkness. Still, she felt no real connection with the Crone. The Father? It brought memories of Ned and her father to mind. The Maiden? No, Catelyn was no innocent. She still felt as if Robb’s blood was on her hands. She felt the ache of guilt at not being there when Bran and Rickon were murdered. And she had let Ned and the girls go South all those years ago. She had never felt a true connection to the Smith.

Of course, there was the Stranger… Catelyn walked to the Stranger, looking it in the face, and lit a candle. She felt like a stranger in her own skin and in this city. She hoped he would guide the spirits of her lost loved ones and even her. The Stranger had always been a darker figure of the Faith, but she felt a pull to him now that she never had before. She’d lost herself. She’d felt shattered after Ned’s death; beaten down when she realized that she could not get her girls back; and Bran and Rickon’s death had left her barely together. Robb’s death had pushed her over the edge, into the Stranger’s waiting arms.

She was about to leave when she caught sight of the Warrior. She had never had a pull towards the Warrior until Brandon’s death and she’d been married to Ned. When Ned had gone off to fight Robert’s war, she had gone to the Warrior and prayed for Ned’s safety. She could not suffer another loss and the Warrior would guide the men. She had taken to the Warrior even more after Robb had called the banners and then when he was crowned King in the North. The Warrior was normally a god for the men; the Maid for the women.

But Catelyn had never been a Maid, at least not in that sense. Catelyn Stark was a warrior, and she would need all the strength she had left in her soul. She lit two candles for the Warrior and looked up into the statue’s handsome face.

“So, I hear you’re about to become my mother-in-law,” a voice rang from behind her.

Catelyn wheeled on her feet, only to find Jaime Lannister himself standing before her, leaning against a column. He looked very different from the last time she’d seen him: clean, his blond hair short but growing, in his Lord Commander white armor, and, of course, his golden hand. “Ser Jaime Lannister,” she said politely, nodding at him.

“Lady Catelyn,” Jaime responded. His tone was gentle. She knew that he could be genial when he wanted to be, but she doubted that he ever wanted that. Jaime Lannister was great at pushing people away, as she had found out when he’d been her son’s captive. “I can already see that there are going to be a lot of confusing feelings. This is going to become complicated, most of all for you. I know I wouldn’t want to marry my father.”

“I should hope not,” Catelyn snipped, unable to contain herself. “You’re already sleeping with your sister.”

Jaime smirked slightly and watched as Catelyn turned pink. “Feisty, now, are we?” He pushed himself away from the column and walked towards her, his golden hand resting on the hilt of his sword. It appeared as if everyone was doomed to lose something in this war, but then again, that was what war was. It took what it wanted and gave nothing in return. “You’ll be a part of this wonderful Lannister family in no time. I hate to tell you, but we’re not exactly a happy-go-lucky bunch. We’re not like you Starks or Tullys; apparently we’re more apt to stab ourselves in the back than our enemies.”

“No, I think you’re excellent at both.”

The amused look left Jaime’s face, replaced by something strange – serious, maybe even regretful. “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Catelyn, and for what my father is putting you through.”

Catelyn raised her chin. “I do not need your pity.”

“No, I don’t think you do, but I wish you would accept my apology for failing you.” Jaime sounded sincere, something she hadn’t been sure he was truly capable of.

She narrowed her eyes, looking at him shrewdly. “Failing me?”

Her words only seemed to exasperate him further. His lips twitched, as if unsure whether they were supposed to form a smirk or a frown. The Kingsguard were famous for remaining passive, even in the face of strong emotions. Perhaps his time in captivity away from King’s Landing had stripped him of this ability for brief moments. “I swore that I would return your daughters to you, but when I came here, they had both vanished. And once here, I was too selfish to leave, so all I did was delegate the task to Brienne.” He actually sounded somewhat ashamed or at least embarrassed, but he didn’t look away from her. He looked at his flaws head on and he dealt with them as honestly as he could. As if being honest with someone seemed too much, Jaime switched back to his old self, adding, “I’m sure my lord father has already thought of giving you new and improved Lannister children to replace the ones that you lost. He can’t buy your loyalty with gold, but maybe with children…”

Catelyn wanted desperately to slap him, but more strongly, she wanted to rush out of his sight and weep.

“You should rest, Lady Catelyn, for your wedding,” Jaime told her.  He looked away from her and back to the castle from which he came. “This will be a longer winter for you than anyone else, I imagine, and the Court will be filled with crueler things than lions.”

Nodding her head, Catelyn left Jaime and returned to the room that she knew she would miss, despite it being ridiculous. She would be a widow for just two more nights and then would sleep in the Hand’s quarters. It had been so long since she had shared a bed with someone, not since Ned was still in Winterfell. The empty spot beside her had been a source of pain, but it was not something she wanted to be filled, especially by Tywin Lannister. She gripped the sheets tightly, nearly ripping them, and fought the wave of tears and grief that threatened to swallow her whole.

In the end though, Catelyn could not take it; and she screamed and ripped the sheets in half and sank to her knees, the blue and red cloth falling all around her in a puddle on the cold stone floor. She pressed her face into the mattress and sobbed, her anger and anguish mixing together in her heaving chest until everything hurt. This would be the last time she’d allow herself to show such feelings, even in private; this would be the last time she’d allow herself to collapse and fall to pieces.

After this, she would be a woman wed – she would become a Lannister – and the Stranger would take over her.

 


	4. The Wedding

She was dressed in blues and reds and gold. It was the most elegant dress she had ever worn. When she had been married to Ned, the ceremony had been rushed and held a sense of urgency like one might a secret. The dress she had worn then had been meant for Brandon to see, not his younger brother, and the words had been meant for him as well. She had known Brandon longer than she had Ned, had been courted by the outgoing and brash young man, but it had been Ned Stark’s cloak that had been put on her shoulders and Ned that she had gone to bed with after the ceremony. It was strange, but she couldn’t remember what dress she was wearing on her wedding day. Despite growing to love Ned deeper than the Heart of Winter itself, their marriage ceremony itself had not been a good one.

They rarely were when they were mixed with funerals.

Today felt like a funeral to Catelyn Tully. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she did not see the Stark that she had become. King’s Landing and the rest had done its best to strip that away from her. Though she felt tired and worn ragged, all of the maids had commented on how beautiful she looked. One had even sighed in hopes that she would remain as beautiful as Catelyn did when she was Catelyn’s age. It had not been an insult; Catelyn felt older than her age, much older and much more tired. Her hair had been done up in the Southern ways that she had done as a child. It was a shinier red than she’d ever seen it before, like the red fall leaves that had started to float all over the city. They’d tried to put jewelry on her, but she had turned it away. She had never liked being flashy or wearing jewelry, something that had always amused Ned. He’d said that all Southern girls like their silver and gold, but she had been a true gem to find in the South.

 _He said that we would always be together, too,_ Catelyn thought as she walked through the hallways, guards on each side.

She had no one to give her away, she dimly realized and wondered who they might put in his place. The king, perhaps, but the king was a ten year-old boy. The only person she had known in King’s Landing had been Petyr and he was gone; besides, she might have scratched his eyes out had she seen him, for what he’d done to Ned. This all left her at a loss as to what was going to happen. Seventeen years ago, she had married Ned, and she’d almost forgotten what a wedding must be like. The last one she’d gone to had been Edmure’s, and… Catelyn closed her eyes, tears seeping out from underneath her eyelids.

_No, I must be strong, like Ned, like my boys and my daughters were._

This was what Sansa must have felt like. Catelyn’s heart ached for her daughter and at the thought of her being forced into a marriage with Tyrion Lannister. It had been difficult, but she’d managed to weasel bits of information out of her maids concerning the marriage since they had been given none at Riverrun. Rumors had been abound that Tyrion had not taken Sansa’s maidenhead, though no one could say why. It had been enough to quench Catelyn’s fears. She would not be so lucky. Tywin knew what must be done in order to seal a marriage. Catelyn did as well. She was not a dreamy and sweet child like Sansa, whose dreams of love and white knights had been dashed away by the Lannisters. Fish did not bode well when they were trapped in a lion’s mouth.

When they entered the sept, Catelyn’s breath was almost taken away. She knew that it wasn’t nearly as done up as it had been for Joffrey’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell and perhaps not even as much as Sansa’s to Tyrion, but she knew beauty when she saw it and she could tell that many decorations had gone into this. Tywin Lannister was a powerful man and, though she did not want to think of it, Catelyn was a powerful woman. She had been married to the Warden of the North for sixteen years. Some might say that she had been the second most powerful woman in Westeros, next to the queen, though women weren’t exactly considered when power was concerned. Ned had been different though. He’d talked with her about things, asked her opinion, and she had been more than pleased, even when she was young and idealistic, to answer and help her young and wary lord husband.

The hall was filled with people, spectators that she did not know but had come to see her wed. She forced herself to look straight, refusing to grant any of them glances. The time for that would come later. She would know their Houses, would learn their names, and she would damn every single one of them. She may have spent fifteen years in the North, but she was as fiery as the South, as she had been when she was younger.

“Lady Catelyn.”

Catelyn looked aslant and saw that the person walking her to the marriage altar was none other than Jaime Lannister, shining brightly in his golden Lannister armor. She nearly laughed.

“It appears as if you have no friends in court to give you away,” Jaime said, sounding a strange mixture of amusement and irritation.

“I have no need for friends here at court.” She took his arm and began to walk with him, determinedly looking straight ahead. _I am strong; I am brave._

Jaime looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “They thought it would be… _appropriate_ for me to do the honors, as I supposedly know you the best.” The idea of it was so laughable that it made Catelyn want to cry. When she had been wed to Ned, her father had walked her to the marriage altar. She had been scared then too, not truly knowing Ned and only his older dead brother, but she knew what Tywin was capable of and it was very unlike her honorable Ned. “Did you know that I was supposed to marry your sister Lysa, before I joined the Kingsguard?”

“Yes, I found out before she did.”

There were no emotions betrayed on Jaime’s face. Like her, he had become practiced at hiding it. “It seems as if we were destined to be family in the end, except instead of being your good-brother, I am your good-son.” They were a few steps away from the altar and Tywin, who she had not even deigned a glance out of spite. In a quiet voice that only she could hear, he said, “It’s not right.”

Those were to be the most honest, heart-felt, damning words she would ever hear from her good-son.

Catelyn stepped up to her place at the altar, leaving Jaime behind, and then looked up at her soon-to-be lord husband for the first time.

It took everything in Catelyn Tully not to react. Tywin Lannister looked…remarkably handsome. He’d trimmed his beard, so much so that it was nearly gone, and wore clothes of deep crimson slashed in gold. She had known that he was handsome, but she had never truly realized it until standing with him here now. There was a strange look in his eyes, his jaw set suddenly, and there was such determination on his face that it made her wonder if how badly he did not want to do this either. He had never remarried after losing his wife all those years ago; the grief of it had been too much, apparently.

During the entire ceremony, Catelyn kept her eyes trained on Tywin’s, defiant and furious. She did not smile and neither did he. She could not tell anyone what happened during the ceremony or the words that were said. There were prayers and candles and she even spoke a few times, but the words vanished into the air the moment they left her lips, never to be known by another again. The ceremony seemed to pass her by without her even realizing it.

She just kept picturing her children. She looked at Tywin and saw her life in Winterfell behind him: Robb shooting a bow for the first time and looking back at her proudly; Bran scaling walls though she’d told him not to a thousand times before; Sansa showing her a piece of beautiful embroidery she’d made; Arya riding her horse faster than the others; and Rickon, reaching out to her, a smile and a laugh on his face… They were calling for her, but she could not go to them. She was stuck in King’s Landing, with the men that had killed them. _“I miss you, I love you,”_ she wanted to say, but only her marriage vows came out of her mouth.

Before she knew it, Tywin had taken her by the arm and was leading her out of the sept. She was a married woman again. The thought made her feel dizzy. Perhaps Tywin took note of it, because he gripped her arm tighter, though he didn’t shoot her a look of concern. She closed her eyes as they walked, letting him lead the way. If she could just pretend that she wasn’t here, if only for a moment, if she could pretend it was Ned leading her by the arm…

When she opened her eyes again, they were entering the great hall. Catelyn had lost sense of everything: she had no idea of mapping. The Red Keep was large, and she didn’t feel like keeping track. She didn’t feel like doing much of anything, but she didn’t want to let that on. That was weak. That was…

 _What is the point?_ a voice whispered in her mind. _Your love is dead; your children are dead. Who must you remain strong for?_

Herself, she had to remain strong for herself. For the memory of her husband and children; for the memory of her father; for the North and the Riverlands; and for all of Westeros to see that a Lannister could not break her will or spirit.

Tywin pulled a seat out for her at the table, which she sat in, and he sat down next to her. Neither of them had said a word since the ceremony; they had barely looked at one another since then. People gathered in the room and the festivities began. There was food and music and dancing and wondrous things. People were laughing and cheering and making toasts. This was the wedding she had dreamed of as a child; it was the wedding she’d thought to have with Brandon Stark. The wedding that had never happened had finally happened, seventeen years later. It was going to be a mix between Northern and Southern traditions, she recalled. Northern weddings were more formal, intimate, and refrained while Southern weddings were loud and boisterous. There had been no bedding at her wedding to Ned; and she hoped there would not be one tonight.

“You do look very beautiful, Lady Catelyn,” Tywin suddenly said. His voice was low, as if he did not want anyone else in the room to hear him.

Catelyn looked over at him. She tried to put on a brave face, or even a blank one, but she was tired. The day’s events, though they had flown by her, had also exhausted her emotionally. “Thank you, my lord.”

He tilted his head. “Will you not call your lord husband by his name?”

“Will it matter?”

A burly man with curly brown hair and a bushy brown and white-spotted beard approached their table and bowed deeply. “Lady Lannister” – it took her a second to realize that the unknown man was talking to her, and the name stung her like a hot blade – “would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I…” Catelyn struggled to speak. All she wanted to do was lie back in bed. “I do not know your name.”

“Lord Mace Tyrell, Master of Ships on the small council.”

Catelyn realized that she knew no one in King’s Landing but the Lannisters. As the wife of the Hand of the King, she should be more acquainted with whom he worked with, but she had been locked away for more than a month. She had no idea who she was surrounded by, though she knew quite well that they were all as poisonous as snakes. Part of her wondered if she should even try to learn these people, but deep down she knew that she would. If she was going to survive – and she would, if only out of spite – then she would need to know exactly who she was dealing with. If they thought her simple, they thought wrong.

“I’m thankful, my lord, but you should ask my lord husband if you may dance with me,” she finally said.

When both Catelyn and Mace looked at Tywin, she saw that he looked somewhat pleased, though he also looked irritated as well. She could see that Mace Tyrell’s being here was making him uncomfortable or at least agitated. “I believe the honor of my lady wife’s first dance should be with me. Should she want to dance with you afterwards, then I’m sure she will.”

He held out his hand to her, and she placed her hands in his. Smiling demurely at Mace, she nodded to him and then walked to the center of the hall. It had been some years since she had actually danced, but once they began to move across the floor, the steps came back to her easily. It was as if she had been dancing just yesterday. Tywin was more graceful than she had expected. She wondered when the last time he’d danced had been for him, but decided not to ask, at least not now.

“You look happier than your daughter did at her wedding.” The words, chilling as they sounded, were not meant to scare or harm her. They weren’t even misplaced. Strangely enough, she could tell that Tywin meant them as a compliment, though she didn’t think it a very good one.

“Sansa was a child filled with hopes and dreams, despite all the horror around her.” Her tone was soft and light, but it hurt her to speak of such things. She wondered if Sansa, where she was, was capable of having hopes and dreams anymore, or if her time in King’s Landing and the sudden loss of her family had swept them away from her forever. “I am no child.”

“Do you not hope or dream anymore, my lady?”

Catelyn looked him in his green eyes. “I dare not.”

They danced in silence for a while. Once the song was over, they stopped and people clapped for them. She was able to feign these emotions easier than she thought. She wondered how badly it had hurt Sansa when she had been in this position. It must have been nearly unbearable for her, but she had survived. People had always thought that Sansa was weak, but Catelyn had known her daughter better. She may have had much of the South in her, as Catelyn had, but Sansa was still born of the North and she had still been a Stark through and through.

 


	5. The Bedding

While Tywin returned to his seat, Catelyn danced with Mace Tyrell. He wasn’t that good of a dancer, preferring to ramble on about this or that. She paid him little attention, choosing to nod her head and make noncommittal responses that complimented him, which seemed to please him. Once that was done, she danced with a few more people, all of whom introduced themselves to her very courteously. There was Garlan Tyrell, who spoke of her daughter and how he’d gallantly tried to make Sansa feel better at her own wedding. Paxter Redwyne danced with her as well, before he had to return to his ships. One of the Kingsguard knights that she didn’t recognize or care to remember danced with her, though his name was Kettleback.

Catelyn went from man-to-man, reaching the point where she stopped trying to remember their names. Oh, how she laughed at their jokes, smiled at their compliments, and spoke generously on their courtesies. She could almost believe that she was enjoying herself. She didn’t think for one second that any of these people actually thought she was happy (with the exception of a few highly thick-headed ones), but as long as she pretended, no one could say otherwise. One older man had offered his condolences on her marriage, not on her children’s deaths, and she’d tilted her head and asked him what he could ever mean. If she hid her pain from the world, then for a night, it wouldn’t exist.

Catelyn turned around, almost ready (almost happy) to dance with her next partner, when she came face-to-face with another knight from the Kingsguard. “And you are?” she asked warily. She’d heard tales about the knights of the Kingsguard since her time here. Kettleback was one of the new members, but a few tales of the old knights had disturbed her.

The knight bowed. “Ser Meryn Trant, my lady.”

Catelyn’s entire body froze. “I know you,” the words came, though she could not recall saying them. “I was told of how you beat my helpless daughter, at the king’s request.” Her sweet Sansa – her daughter’s smiling face came to her unbidden. A dark shadow fell across her face and Ser Trant turned red. “What an obedient and honorable knight, you must be.”

“I did what my king told me to do, my lady,” Trant said in a low, dangerous voice. “And if the Hand tells me to do the same–”

“You’ll do no such thing to my good-mother.” Jaime Lannister stepped in between them, taking hold of Catelyn’s arm. She suddenly realized that she’d raised her hand, as if ready to strike the man before her. “And if you even think of it, I don’t know who would have your head faster: me or my father.” He started to steer her from the dance floor, taking her away from Trant, who looked both shocked and furious. “You must be exhausted from all this dancing. I’m sure you need to rest and a drink.”

“I…yes, of course.” Catelyn lowered her hand to her side. Jaime let go of her, nodding to her, and then turned around to watch the crowd as she returned to her seat next to Tywin. Looking and feeling a little dazed, she sat down, not noticing that he was looking at her. Had she been paying attention at all, she would’ve noticed that he’d been watching her carefully the entire time, even while talking with other people.

Without warning, she felt a hand touching her cheek. She jerked her head to look at Tywin, and his fingers tangled in her hair. His face was blank and his eyes even more blank, but she thought she could see something beyond all that, something that might be concern or at least mild interest in what had just happened on the dance floor.

“One might expect happiness during a wedding or perhaps sadness on your part,” he said to her, “but anger is not something I was expecting to see from you.”

Her eyes flittered to Ser Meryn Trant, who was dancing with a blushing young lady.

Tywin followed her gaze. “A knight does what his king orders him to do.”

“A knight is supposed to protect those that need protecting. My daughter was one of those people, and he beat her.” Catelyn felt a burst of anger explode in her chest. She felt like standing up and screaming; she wanted to pick up her goblet and toss it at the man. She felt like collapsing to her knees and pulling her hair out. “He’s a man grown and he beat a little girl, in front of everyone. And for what reason? Because his king told him to?”

Tywin pulled his hand away from her cheek. Her skin seemed to burn where his hand had been. “Now you know the dilemma of a knight in the Kingsguard.” He looked out to the crowd again. “If you’re worried, I won’t have them beat you should you displease me. I doubt you’ll do that.”

She snapped her eyes back to Tywin. “How can you be so sure of that?”

“Quite easily,” Tywin said with a small smile. “I know what you value the most.”

 _Family, duty, honor._ Had she always been this easy to read?

The wedding came to an end just as suddenly as it came to begin. Catelyn had not left her seat at the table after that, although Tywin had gotten up to talk to a few people. More offers of congratulations have been given to her, more comments on her beauty, more sideways looks than she could handle. She had been close to pushing herself to her feet so that she could sweep out of the place, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly, when Tywin appeared next to her and held out his hand. Her eyes traveled from his hand to his face suspiciously.

“Unless you want to stay, my lady.”

Catelyn took his hand and stood up. As they began to walk away, she realized that the amount of people in the hall was starting to dwindle. She’d stopped paying attention completely, picking at her food and sipping on her wine. The people that were left were more or less drunk and the knights that had remained to guard them.

One man nearly toppled at her feet, stomping them both short. “And what about the bedding, my lord?” he said through hiccups, grinning broadly. He reached out, fingering the sleeve of her dress, before she could pull away from him. “This one’s had five children, I hear, so she must be hiding something quite good under that gown.” The look he gave her was enough to make Catelyn blush as red as her hair.

Tywin stepped in front of her, in between the man and Catelyn. There was a sudden change in the air around him and in the way he was standing. She had not realized it before, but Tywin had an incredibly commanding presence about him. “I’ll have no such thing,” he snapped. “And if you dare touch my wife or speak any degrading comments about her again, I’ll have you thrown in the black cells for a month.” She thought Tywin might actually smack the man, but there was Jaime again, dragging the man away to be thrown out of the doors. A wave of dizziness flew over her as Tywin led her out of the hall.

It was only until she realized they were heading towards the Tower of the Hand that she began to tremble.

 _Stupid woman,_ she thought to herself viciously. She’d taken into account how horrible the wedding would be, but she had not once thought about what would happen after the wedding came to an end. Despite the fact that she was no longer a blushing maiden, the marriage would still need to be consummated in order for it to be valid.

When they reached his (their) room, Tywin let go of her so he could open the door. For a wild moment, as Catelyn stood there gripping her fingers tightly, she closed her eyes and entertained the idea of running away. She wouldn’t get very far, but if only for a small moment, she would be free as she ran down the halls. The thought of them dragging her back, kicking, screaming, pleading, crying… It was too much. As she felt Tywin pulling her into the room, she knew that she would never be free, truly.

 _This is what Arya must have thought was marriage was,_ Catelyn thought to herself dimly, _being trapped in a cage._

“Here, take this.”

Catelyn opened her eyes and saw that Tywin had poured her a glass of wine. She frowned at it somewhat suspiciously, but took it anyways, muttering a thank you under her breath. The urge to down it crossed her mind very vividly, but she only sipped on it. She felt like she needed the whole bottle, even though it was bitter and strong.

Tywin regarded her carefully over the rim of his glass. “You’ve not been with anyone since Eddard Stark?”

“No,” was the crisp response Catelyn gave him. When he said nothing further and continued to look at her, she sighed. “I’ve only ever been with him.”

“You kept your maidenhood while betrothed to Brandon Stark?” Tywin let out a small chuckle. “How shocking. I heard the only man to rival him in whoring was Robert Baratheon.”

“Your son Tyrion outdid them both, from what I heard.”

The slightly amused look from Tywin’s face faded away almost immediately. Mentioning his youngest son had been a mistake. He was not exactly proud of having a dwarf for a son, much less one known for drinking and mucking about with whores – especially now that he was on the run and accused of murdering the king, his own nephew. Tywin set his glass down. “You’ll be given freedom more than most prisoners in all of the Seven Kingdoms, but I will not tolerate any insubordination from you. Whether you like it or not, you’re my wife, and you will act accordingly.”

He stepped closer to her, and she set her empty glass down next to his. _Be brave,_ she told herself, steeling her nerves, but she was not expecting the sudden gentle touch of one hand on her cheek and another on her waist, pulling her to him. Tywin Lannister was many things, and gentle was not one of them. Out of all of the things he could have done, perhaps this was the one action that startled her the most, and she jumped, stumbling back away from him, her eyes widening in panic. It was his touch that did the trick. It was the first intimate thing to happen while they were completely alone. He hadn’t even kissed her during the wedding ceremony. He hadn’t showed her any sort of affection or care while in front of everyone, except for dancing with her once and holding her hand while they walked.

No, this moment was theirs and theirs alone.

“You could have done worse,” Tywin pointed out. “You could have been married off to someone much worse than me.”

Catelyn shook her head, tried to say the word “no,” but her lips could only wrap around it and fail.

“Lord Walder Frey actually wanted to take you as his wife, as his payment for his hand in your son’s murder.”

“No!” Catelyn cried out, swiping the glasses and the jug of wine off the table. They crashed to the floor loudly, wine spilling all over the wall and seeping to the floor into a red rug. She was acting so stupidly, like a child throwing a tantrum, but a wave of anguish rolled over her and it was almost too much to bear. When she shut that out though, all she was left with was rage. When she finally took a deep shuddering breath to calm down, she began to panic. She expected a guard to rush in or for Tywin to slap her for her “insubordination,” and she hastily shot him a glance, only to see him just watching her. “Forgive me, my lord, I did not…” She had to be proper; she had to be strong. If he saw her like this, he would know he had won. “I did not mean to…”

But some lies, however small they seemed, were too big to be said aloud.

It felt like ages before he spoke. “I wondered when you would finally break.” But no, she didn’t break. He didn’t know what breaking was if he thought this was it. “Perhaps break is the wrong word,” he added, as if sensing her thoughts, “but I did not think it would take you this long to…finally be honest with your emotions in front of me.”

If she were truly honest with her emotions in front of him, she would’ve thrown the glasses at his face. She would’ve attacked him. She would’ve done everything in her power to hurt him. But for a moment, she wasn’t angry at him. She wasn’t even angry at herself for allowing herself to cave into her grief. She was just so angry at _everything_. And it was then that she realized something. The only time she felt alive was when she was angry. Her days were blurry with grief, but the moments when she felt bursts of anger were so clear and vivid; it was startling. If she did not want this marriage to consume her, if she didn’t want Tywin to be the end of her, then she would have to let her anger burn through her blood. She would not be the quiet, simpering wife; she did not think that he would want that anyways.

“Then let’s be truly honest with each other in this very special moment,” Catelyn said, raising her eyes to finally meet his. “I know what must be done, and I am truly loathed to do anything. I’m sure you know that.” She walked away from him, catching her reflection in the mirror, as if to gage her own face. _You must be as hard as the North._ “It will be done, of course. I have no illusions about this marriage. All I ask is that I am not degraded, not in public and not in private. Surely you can afford the decency of not treating me like a whore when you have need of me.”

“A man should treat a lady as a lady,” Tywin said, seemingly agreeing with her, “and a whore as a whore. You’re certainly not the latter, and I wouldn’t treat you as such, but you are my wife.”

“And a wife has her duties, of course. Eddard put a child in my belly on the night of our wedding before I even really knew him. I know my duties.” Catelyn picked at the strings of her dress, pulling and fingering them almost absentmindedly. It felt more like armor to her than any shield ever could. “That does not mean that I have to enjoy it,” she said as she turned on her heels to face, “or make sure you enjoy it.”

The dress, which had hugged her thin body so tightly throughout the wedding that she could barely breathe in it, slipped down her shoulders and into a puddle at her feet. She stepped out of it, still in her small clothes, and delicately kicked her shoes to the side. Though the war had run her thin, she’d had five children and the slight curves and body to prove it. She wasn’t the blushing maid with creamy pure skin with no lines or stretches, but she didn’t care. She had always been proper and dressed appropriately, but she’d lost her insecurities about her body the moment she’d given birth. There were so many other things to be concerned with. At thirty-seven, she was no sprightly young woman that could hop in and out of bed with a giggle. She was no gorgeous wanton thing.

But none of that seemed to matter to Tywin. He hadn’t said a word or even made a move since she shed the dress, but she could see the desire in his green eyes plain as day.

Finally, he stepped up to her. Again, she wanted to run away and scream, but she didn’t. She was fire. She would not back down from this. She was not weak. Even when he touched her, his rough hands sliding on skin that very few had ever seen, she did not flinch, though she wanted to. Even when he pulled her smallclothes away, she did not jump or cry or step away. She made sure to meet his eyes and let him know just who he had married. But when he ran his thumb delicately across her breast, she could not stop the sudden gasp from slipping from her or from digging her nails into his sleeve. It had been so long since anyone had touched her so intimately, and it had alarmed her a lot more than she’d thought it would.

A small smile appeared on his face, faint and dangerous. Tywin leaned into her, his body against hers and his mouth so very close to her ear. “I find it very difficult to believe that I wouldn’t enjoy this and perhaps, just maybe, you might as well.”

Catelyn smiled. “We’ll see about that, now won’t we, my lord?”

 


	6. The Guarded Woman

The days and weeks flew by for Catelyn after the wedding. It turned out that she and Tywin did not have to spend a lot of time together. Tywin became busy with his duties as Hand of the King and left Catelyn to her own devices for the most part. For the first three weeks, she always had a guard on her. The only time she didn’t have a guard with her was when she bathed or did other business. It was tiring always having someone behind her. She knew that there would be a guard at her door the moment she opened it. Despite the fact that she was married to Tywin Lannister, she spent more time with a young gold cloak named Ser Broderick Vaughn than her actual lord husband.

She liked Ser Vaughn though. He was only one and twenty and looked like he had the North in him. When she’d asked him where he was from, the boy had stumbled over his words and clumsily told her that he was from a small village in the Rills. Over the weeks, she’d managed to learn a few things about Broderick, making him feel more like an actual trusted guard than her captor. He’d had a little sister named Flora. His mother had worked for Lady Dustin in Barrowtown, but had died when he was nine; after that, his father, who was a carpenter, had packed up and they’d traveled to King’s Landing. Broderick had apprenticed under him but had become a gold cloak after the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Both his father and sister had been killed during two separate riots before Blackwater; and Broderick had decided to let go of the failing business to join the depleted gold cloaks. He wasn’t an excellent swordsman, but he did well enough, better than most of the new recruits at least, according to him. He liked being a gold cloak, but he didn’t like many of his fellow knights. _“Not a lot of honor in that lot,”_ he’d explained, though he didn’t have to explain it to her. The gold cloaks had betrayed Ned, which had led to his capture and death.

Catelyn could see why Tywin had chosen Ser Vaughn to be Catelyn’s main guard. The boy was polite to a fault, much kinder than what most people would expect from the gold cloaks, which had become known as being ruthless. He was easygoing and would make plenty of quips and jokes. Despite being lowborn, he knew how to deal with and talk to people better than most highborns. She assumed it had to do with his mother having served for Lady Dustin. He even looked a bit like Robb. He had curly light brown hair that peeked out from underneath his helmet and bright blue eyes. He was more like the Robb that had lived in Winterfell though, before he’d taken on a crown. Though he’d lost both his parents and had no family to speak of, he remained positive and resolute.

She admired him for that. Only once had she asked him how he managed this, and he’d just shrugged. _“I don’t know, m’lady,”_ he’d told her. _“I just figured it’d be a waste to always be sad. Being sad and moping about all the time wasn’t gonna bring my da and mother back. Sure, I was sad at first, but you’ve only got so much sadness in you before you’re out.”_

How he could look at things so simply – so easily – was beyond her. Of course he knew what she had lost. Everyone knew that she had lost her husband, her children, and her father. But being around Broderick was nice. Very few people were capable of understanding what she’d gone through. She could not help but appreciate, however grudgingly at first, that Tywin had managed to find a gold cloak that was not only sympathetic and kind but also could understand her plight as well. She had almost thanked Tywin, but had stopped herself short; still, he seemed to know that she was happy with his choice. She had four other gold cloaks that guarded her throughout the week, but Broderick was definitely the main one, despite being the youngest, least skilled, and lowest born.

Today, the morning shone brightly and the birds chirped outside of the window. Tywin almost always rose before she did. Some mornings, she rose before him so she could steal a moment in the sept as the sun rose. She had tried to become acquainted with all the gods again, though it was slow going. Broderick would follow her faithfully and while the other guards that went with her on his days off would leave her be, Broderick almost always lit a candle as well when he was there. He always lit a candle to the Mother; he’d been so red-faced when he’d explained that he lit a candle for the Mother in hopes that she would protect his little sister in the afterlife now that he had failed.

This was one of those mornings that Tywin had raised before her. She’d watched him slip out of bed and into his clothes. There was an early small council meeting today. News from the Riverlands had come in. Jaime Lannister was dealing with the Seige of Riverrun. Despite Edmure being captured and now Catelyn married to Tywin, her Uncle Brynden was still being difficult and causing problems. Catelyn could not help but smile at that (the Blackfish would never change), but it worried her nonetheless. Brynden Tully had apparently been outraged that his niece had been forced to marry a Lannister, but things were starting to finally thaw. Catelyn had offered to write to her uncle, in hopes that no one would be hurt, but Tywin had been so aggravated that he’d dismissed the idea immediately.

Catelyn did her hair simply and dressed for a cool morning. Winter was coming for true and the fall chills were finally starting to set into King’s Landing. She’d heard a few of the younger people complain, but she could not help but roll her eyes. It had almost always been cold in Winterfell, even during the lovely summers. She’d had a winter in Winterfell as well. No other winter so far could compare to that one.

It was the third day of the week, which meant that it was Broderick’s day shift. The guards always kept the same schedule. Catelyn was somewhat excited to tell Broderick that she wanted to go for the walk outside of the Red Keep in the city, but when she opened the door, she saw that the halls were completely empty. There was not a gold cloak to speak of outside of her room. For the first time in two months, she was completely alone. At first, Catelyn didn’t know what to do with herself. Though she’d rather hated always being followed and knowing there was someone outside of her door if Tywin or a handmaiden was not with her, she had come to expect someone to be there. Now that there wasn’t, she felt a strange sort of emptiness and confusion.

Besides, Broderick was a lot more interesting to talk to than the ladies of the court. Catelyn had no intentions of speaking with Cersei Lannister or Maergery Tyrell for at least another month, instead choosing to leave them in the cold. Tywin had understood that well enough. She still felt like clawing Cersei’s eyes out and she felt somewhat embarrassed to be seen by Maergery. So much had changed since the last time Catelyn had seen Maergery Tyrell at Storm’s End.

Glancing around the hallway, Catelyn realized that no one was coming to guard her, so she stepped out of the room completely and shut the door. Instead of leaving the castle though, she started to wander around it again. She’d been in this castle before, when she’d been a young girl and her father had been Lord of Riverrun, but it looked very different. Back then, the Targaryens had reigned as kings in these halls. The colors had changed to yellow and black, but there was more red and gold than anything else. The Lannister mark had been made. Tywin had been…kind enough to make sure that she only had one red and gold gown. She had not worn it yet, though she knew that she would have to eventually.

Somehow or another, Catelyn found herself nearing the Great Hall where she heard voices. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she slipped inside, only to find it filled with people. She carefully made her way through the crowd so that she could see.

“…my only daughter, m’lord Hand, and she’s homely, but she’s a maid, you see,” an old man was saying as he twisted a worn down cap in his hand. “She’s a girl of four and ten, and he thought it was his right, m’lord Hand, he thought it was his right to take her maidenhead since he’s a highborn. He tried to take her while she was tending to our sheep. If she’s ruined, no good man is like to want her. But if there was some sort of punishment, m’lord Hand, he might not try again…?”

Women were sniffling behind napkins and whispers of _“oh how dreadful, the poor girl”_ danced in the air. Catelyn fought to roll her eyes at the sight. None of these women had experienced the fear of nearly being raped. They had been pampered all their lives from birth to adulthood. The only time they’d had to fear such things had been when Stannis Baratheon had tried to take the city, but it was as if all these women had forgotten it. Had they understood the girl’s and father’s plight, then they would’ve been as silently outraged as Catelyn. When she turned her attention to the Iron Throne, she did not see the boy king Tommen or his maiden wife. Instead, Tywin sat on the throne with his daughter and Lord Mace Tyrell on his left and Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys on his right.

“And you know for certain it was him that attempted to rape your daughter?” Tywin asked.

“Yes, m’lord Hand. My son and I chased him all the way back to the castle. His father told us that he’d have us killed if we didn’t leave his land, which we did quick as can be.”

Tywin nodded his head. “They will be fined for twenty gold dragons, which shall be given to you as a dowry for when your daughter marries.” Catelyn imagined that twenty gold dragons was nothing for Tywin Lannister, but for the poor old man in front of him, that was enough to keep him afloat for the rest of the year. “If the boy should try again though, it’ll be his cock that is taken and not just money. I want peace in the Riverlands. If we are to survive this winter, no one is to act like a common bandit or outlaw.”

“Thank you, m’lord Hand, thank you,” the old man said, bowing erratically, before slipping back into the ground. People actually began to clap at Tywin’s ruling. Catelyn thought it strange, but did and said nothing. The people were clearly happy and relieved that peace had begun to fall on the Seven Kingdoms. She had not been able to see it before, but she could see it now. The guards talked loudly, and she heard bits of news here and there about how outlaws were being hunted down and punished harshly for their pillaging. Just a year ago, it had been Tywin Lannister’s men doing the pillaging and raping; and though she wanted to deny it, she knew that it had been a problem in Robb’s men as well. Robb had punished rapists in the ranks coldly, but he could not catch everyone.

The session came to an end. People began to dissipate from the room and the members of the small council stood to take their leave as well. Catelyn looked around, trying to find the door through the people that brushed passed her. She was about to start walking when she felt a hand on her wrist stopping her. When she turned around, she saw that it was Tywin holding onto her. “My lord,” she said, curtsying slightly and fighting the urge to turn pink at having been caught. She’d wanted to slip out before Tywin saw her.

“My lady,” Tywin responded. “I did not expect to see you at court today.” He sounded genuinely surprised, if only a little, though he didn’t look it. “This is your first time here, is it not?” She nodded her head, spotting Cersei Lannister watching the two of them from afar. She had a disgruntled look on her face, but the moment she realized that Catelyn had caught her staring, Cersei swept out of the room. Catelyn looked back to her husband. “It was a…pleasant surprise to see you walk in.”

Things had become…lukewarm between them. She could not say that she cared for him or even liked him – she was sure that she never would – but the cold animosity that had hung between them for the past two months had started to thaw. The pleasantries were less mechanical, their conversations longer and filled with more vibrancy, and their intimacies less awkward. She still found it humiliating and awkward when she did her duties in bed, but he was not mean to her. She did not wake up to lilies like she had with Ned during the first few months they were truly getting to know one another, but she found that she did not terribly loathe his company. He was smart and witty when he wanted to be. He did not joke around a lot, not like his sons, but he was not always so serious like Ned had been.

Slowly but surely, the two of them were opening up to one another. Catelyn had tried to hold back, but she had come to the realization that it was quite pointless. She was married to the man, and that was not like to change. She would never love him – would never forgive him – but perhaps she could grow to become comfortable around him, as much as possible. She had started to accept things, even in her undying anger towards the situation. He had been right, after all. She could have been married off to someone much worse. Tywin Lannister may have ordered cruel and terrible things – he may control cruel and terrible men – but he was not a monster. He was not gentle or sweet to her, but he was not unkind or ever cruel either. The world was run by cold and ruthless men like Tywin Lannister; and whether people knew it or not, Catelyn knew that the world needed men like him.

 _There is no room for honor and mercy in politics._ And Tywin Lannister was brilliant at politics.

“I was going to walk around the city, but Ser Vaughn was not at his post.” Catelyn was actually worried about the boy. In the two months that she had known him, he had never once been late for guard duty. The boy was more prompt than all her children had been together, even more than Sansa.

“I decided to…cut your guard detail,” Tywin told her. She arched an eyebrow at him. He held out an arm to her, which she took, and the two of them walked out of the hall together. “Ser Vaughn told me that he didn’t think you were likely to run or cause harm to yourself.”

Catelyn felt taken aback and froze in her tracks. “He told you that?” She paused, thinking of all the times that she had spoken to the young man. He always seemed so earnest – and so willing to listen to her as well. She’d told him things that she hadn’t told anyone else in King’s Landing. Her eyes snapped back to Tywin. “You had him spy on me?” She felt a wave of betrayal wash over her and then immediately felt stupid for it. How she could have trusted anyone in this city or castle, she had no idea, but in a fit of weakness, she’d let one boy trick her into becoming comfortable with him.

“Yes _and_ no,” Tywin answered. The hurt feelings did not leave her. She pulled her arm from him and stepped back, leaning against the sill. “I did use him to spy on you. I knew you would not speak to me directly. Jaime found Ser Vaughn and spoke with him at length. The boy was so excited to speak with my son that he couldn’t help but talk. Once Jaime told me about the young man, I knew you would be more likely to open up to him, and so I picked him to be your main personal guard.”

She felt so stupid. To think she had actually thought that Tywin had picked someone that would make her feel more comfortable and at ease – to think he had picked someone for her – when he had really picked someone that would suit his own personal needs. And even worse, she fell for it as well after she’d told herself that she wouldn’t allow herself to be deceived by anyone.

“You feel hurt and betrayed, I’m sure, but do not blame the boy,” Tywin told her.

“I don’t care.” Catelyn pushed away from the wall, but Tywin stood in front of her, stopping her short. “I just want to return to my quarters.”

“Listen to me.” Tywin did not move. She sighed and leaned back against the sill. “I know you liked the boy. A good-natured, earnest young man like that – it’s hard not to, especially when he bears resemblance to your oldest son.” Tywin had even caught on that. Catelyn felt defeated all over again. “In his defense, I doubt he even knew that I was using him to spy on you. I have all four gold cloaks report to me after guard duty. I asked all of them questions about what they did, when in reality, I was asking what you were doing. Ser Vaughn was the only one you talked to, so of course I was able to gleam more information about you from him.”

Though she felt even more stupid to feel it, Catelyn could not help but feel a bit relieved to know that Broderick had not been actively spying on her. Of course he was so earnest that he wouldn’t even realize that he was being used as a spy. He wasn’t the most intelligent person, but he was the nicest person she’d met in King’s Landing so far. She truly hadn’t wanted to think that he too was like everyone else in this gods forsaken city. Still, it made her feel wary to know that she could not even trust people that were honestly trustworthy. Everyone was a spy, even people that didn’t know it. If it wasn’t Lord Varys’ little birds, then there was Cersei Lannister’s spies and now Tywin Lannister’s as well. Sometimes, it felt like Catelyn was the only one that didn’t have spies in this city.

“It was his idea that your detail be lessened actually,” Tywin added.

“Really now?”

A strange, little smile appeared on Tywin’s face. “Apparently the other gold cloaks were complaining about how guarding you was an insult to their skill and a waste of their time, so I had them sent to clean all of the latrines of the Red Keep.”

That was more like the young man she had come to know. He was always defensive of anyone that seemed to need it. One time, while walking through the Keep, a gold cloak had made a crude comment about her when they’d been walking past and Broderick had knocked him right on the nose with the butt of his sword and told him to _“never be rude to Lady Stark again.”_ He hadn’t even realized that he’d slipped up with her name, but she’d been secretly happy that he had. Apparently, Jaime Lannister had told him that Tywin would not want anyone insulting his lady wife and to defend her honor as best as he could. When she’d confronted Jaime about it, he’d just laughed and said that the gold cloak’s nose had swollen up like a melon.

“From now on, you’ll have free reign to roam the Red Keep,” Tywin told her. He took her hands in his, causing her to look down. Her hands were small in his gloved ones. “I trust you with that. When you leave the Red Keep, you will be guarded by either Ser Vaughn or Jaime. Is that clear?”

Catelyn glanced up at her husband. “Of course.”

“Good. Now I must leave to attend to some other matters, but I will see you later tonight when I am through for the day.” In a strange moment of tenderness, Tywin kissed the top of her hand. Every now and then, moments like this one occurred, and Catelyn didn’t know what to make of them. She didn’t know whether to feel confused, afraid, irritated, or pleased. “I have been working late into the night, so I thought we might have dinner together.”

Catelyn didn’t know what to say. She knew that she should say that she would very much like that or that she was looking forward to it, but she could not say those things. Courtesies were just another form of lying, so it wasn’t that she was a bad liar. She was just growing tired of it. But even stranger, she found herself feeling slightly…content with the idea of not eating dinner alone. “That would be…nice, my lord.”

“I thought so.” And then Tywin left her standing in the hallway, feeling more confused and frustrated than ever before.

 


	7. The Dinner

Catelyn felt so [deceived](http://ohmytheon.tumblr.com/post/25822721932/the-winters-song#) – by herself and by Tywin, and she did not know who she was angrier with.

She should have expected something like this from Tywin, but she was upset with herself for somehow getting her hopes up. How could she have gotten her hopes up about having a night with her lord husband was beyond her, but perhaps she had missed the companionship. Her [marriage](http://ohmytheon.tumblr.com/post/25822721932/the-winters-song#) with Ned had been lonely for the first two years: at first, because he had been away at war; and second, because they had not known each other and had been nervous with one another. Her marriage with Tywin was different. He was a busy man – after all, he had a kingdom to run – but even when they were together, he was distant with her as well. Ned had been distant, but only because he hadn’t known what to do with his late brother’s betrothed. But Tywin, for all his courtesies, had tricked her too many times.

And now here she was, eating dinner with her husband, his daughter, and his grandson.

_Like a family._

In her defense, Cersei did not look pleased to be here either. The two women had been actively avoiding one another since Catelyn’s arrival in King’s Landing. Had her presence not been required, Catelyn was sure that Cersei would not have even attended her father’s wedding. She wore a look on her face like she smelt something disgusting; and if she wasn’t picking at her food, then she was gulping down the wine in her goblet. If that wasn’t enough, she continued to shoot murderous glares in Catelyn’s direction all throughout dinner. There was no attempt at conversation between the two women; and Catelyn did not miss it whatsoever.

Meanwhile, Tommen, their king, looked peachy as ever. He was a plump, little boy, but Catelyn could tell that he had just yet to grow. Robb had been a chubby baby as well, but he had grown into a tall handsome boy. He had been a man by the time he’d died, even at his young age. She was sure that Tommen would grow as well and while he might not be as handsome as his true father, he would be a good-looking lad. What she liked the most about the boy was his temperament: he was so sweet, still childish, yet endearingly so. She had loved dancing with him at her wedding and had been touched when Tommen had offered her his [favorite](http://ohmytheon.tumblr.com/post/25822721932/the-winters-song#) sweet. How he was a Lannister was beyond Catelyn, but it was clear as day from his looks that he was one. Perhaps there was a kindness in Jaime that no one else knew of, because there certainly wasn’t any in Cersei, at least not right now.

Catelyn glanced at her husband, who didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest. Finally, unable to take it anymore, she set her silverware down and delicately cleared her throat. “Your Grace, your name day is coming up, is it not?”

Tommen swallowed his food and beamed brightly. “Oh yes!”

“And how old will you be?”

“I will be nine,” Tommen answered excitedly. Catelyn’s heart swelled at the look of pure excitement on the boy’s face. He was so sweet. Even at nine, all of her children had seemed older than their years, even though they all had their childish moments. Bran would have turned nine this year. She could still [picture](http://ohmytheon.tumblr.com/post/25822721932/the-winters-song#) him climbing the walls of the castle, against her chagrin. Tommen didn’t look to be in danger of [scaling](http://ohmytheon.tumblr.com/post/25822721932/the-winters-song#) any walls, however. “There will be a grand [feast](http://ohmytheon.tumblr.com/post/25822721932/the-winters-song#), as well, isn’t that right, mother? And a tourney, just as Joffrey had on all his name days.”

At the mention of his late older brother, Cersei looked away from her son. Tommen seemed to understand what he had done and turned his attention back to his plate of food. He picked up his fork, pushing the food around on the plate; and the room went silent once again. Catelyn could almost literally see the glow on Tommen’s face fade away into one of sadness. He had not meant to upset his mother, and yet he had anyways.

Catelyn pat his hand gently. “I am certain it will be wonderful, Your Grace.”

“Oh, what do you care?” Cersei suddenly spat.

Catelyn’s eyes flickered to the other woman, who was looking at her with vile contempt. “I’m unsure of what you mean–”

“You don’t have to play stupid with me,” Cersei cut in, grasping her knife and fork tightly. “We both know you are. You learned that the hard way when you tried to kidnap my traitorous brother years ago.”

“It seems as if I was right to have taken him,” Catelyn replied smoothly, “considering his murderous tendencies.”

Cersei pushed herself away from the table and jumped to her feet. “I will not be spoken to like that! I am the _Queen_!”

Catelyn did not react. Instead, she took a sip of her wine and set the goblet back down. “And I am apparently your lady mother, so I will politely ask you to take your seat again.”

“You,” Cersei growled, slamming her hands down on the table, “ _you_ are not my mother. You are _nothing_ , just a glorified prisoner of a war your dead son lost.”

Silence settled in between them. Everyone seemed to be frozen. Cersei was glaring at her, leaning hard against the table, while Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tommen watched them behind hooded eyes, having shrunken in his seat. Tywin  stopped eating and set his knife down, raising his eyes to the two women.

“You may speak whatever you wish of me, my queen,” Catelyn finally said. Her eyes shot up to the younger woman, and she coldly added, “But the next time you speak of my family will be the last time you ever speak to me, and I do not think that would do your failing courtly image a favor.”

Cersei gaped at her for a moment before turning to her father and spitting out incredulously, “Are you going to let her speak to me like this?”

“You insulted her family when she was only being kind to your son,” Tywin pointed out. “What else would you expect of her?”

Catelyn did not understand the strange feeling that resulted from Tywin standing up for her. She could hold her own, especially against someone like Cersei Lannister, but it felt…good to know that Tywin had her back, at least right now. It felt good to know that she wasn’t alone in everything, even if it was something as insignificant as a family spat.

Cersei harrumphed. “I’ve lost my appetite,” she stated, before turning on her heels and exiting the room.

Tommen sat uncertainly in his chair. Catelyn was sure the boy was used to following his mother around everywhere, but with Tywin Lannister here, power had taken a different position. People followed Tywin’s orders instead of Cersei’s now; and even the young king was torn between his family. He looked frightened, but said nothing, probably worried that he would aggravate his grandfather who did not tolerate weakness.

“Your Grace,” Catelyn began, getting the young boy’s attention, “are you full?” The boy nodded his head slowly. “Do you think the kittens have had their dinner yet?”

“I don’t know,” Tommen replied, screwing up his face in concentration. “Do you think I should check?”

Catelyn smiled softly. “It is part of a king’s duty to ensure that all those under his reign are fed.”

Tommen seemed to lighten up at the thought of being near his beloved kittens. He got out of his seat, but before he left the room, he bounded over to Catelyn and hugged her tightly. Catelyn froze, startled by the sudden action, but slowly hugged the little boy back. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ve never had a grandmother before.” And then he left, escorted back to his bedroom by one of the Kettleback brothers.

Once the door was shut behind them, it left Catelyn and Tywin alone in the room. Despite not feeling like eating at the beginning, she had lost her appetite completely after the argument with Cersei. It had left a bitter taste in her mouth. And yet she felt light-headed from Tommen’s goodbye. She had always hoped to be a grandmother, something that Robb had tried so hard with Jeyne. She was supposed to have been the grandmother of a king, but no one could have expected for her to be the grandmother of _this_ king.

It could have been worse though. Tommen was an endearing child; and she even felt proud of the boy at times. The fact that he’d warmed up to her so quickly had made Catelyn feel at ease. Even if the ladies of the court were chilly towards her and Cersei even colder, the boy king was delighted by the fact that he had a grandmother now, even if that grandmother was only two years older than his own mother.

“You provoke her,” Tywin announced, leaning back in his chair.

“It is not difficult to do so,” Catelyn replied dryly. “The fact that I am still breathing provokes her.”

Tywin’s mouth quirked into something that looked like a smirk, but she couldn’t be for certain in the lighting. “Since her mother’s passing, she has been the only Lady of the Rock. I think it burns her to have another lady in the family.”

“Perhaps she does not remember that I did not ask to be a part of this family,” Catelyn pointed out, rolling her eyes away from her husband.

This time, Tywin let out a chuckle. “Asking means very little to my daughter. You are an invasion in the family, in her opinion.” He looked at her carefully, swirling the wine around in his goblet. “Tommen has taken to you very well, though. I suppose that’s also part of the reason why Cersei is so resentful towards you.”

“He’s never had a grandmother,” Catelyn mused aloud. Both Joanna Lannister and Robert Baratheon’s parents had perished long before Tommen’s birth. The only grandparent he had known was Tywin Lannister and the man was not exactly warm or grandfatherly. When she looked at Tywin again and saw that he was gazing at her, she ducked her head, trying to hide her reddening cheeks. “I often wondered what it would feel like to be a grandmother. To tell you the truth, I had hoped to not be one for many more years.”

“You’re very good with him,” Tywin said, almost delicately.

 _I had a son his age,_ she wanted to say. She had not been ready to be a grandmother yet, not when she had still been a mother. Rickon had only been three when she’d left Winterfell to warn Ned about the Lannisters. He had been a fierce, young thing, but he had still been a babe in her eyes. She could never coddle him – no, he had been too independent for that – but when he had needed her the most, she had failed him. She’d allowed her grief over Bran to swallow her whole, and then she had left him in Winterfell. _To die – you left him to die._

“You must miss your own children very much,” Tywin said, his voice distant. When she looked at him sharply, she noted that he was no longer looking at her but into his glass of wine. Of course she missed them. She missed them every day with everything in her. And yes, being around Tommen hurt, especially when he was around Cersei, but… it felt good too. “Many men think that the female sex is weak – I thought it as well – but when I look at you… I know they are wrong.”

“That is…kind of you to say, my lord,” Catelyn murmured, sinking into her seat.

Tywin cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ve been called many things, but ‘kind’ is certainly not one of them.”

“Perhaps people do not know you very well then,” Catelyn replied, something of a tired smile appearing on her face. “You are kinder than most people here are intelligent, at the very least.”

Tywin chuckled again and leaned back in his seat. “If people weren’t so foolish and listened to what you said, you would be queen of the court with that wit. It’s very biting.”

“I don’t want to be queen of the court,” Catelyn told him, moving the food around on her plate with a fork. _I want to go home._ But what was home these days? King’s Landing was her home now and both Winterfell and Riverrun had fallen to the lions as well. “The women are insipid and the men are just as petty.”

“And now you know what I must deal with on a daily basis,” Tywin sighed as he stood up from his chair. Catelyn went to stand up as well, but he waved his hand at her; and she sank back into her seat. “I must return to my work before I retire.”

“Do you want me to wait for you, my lord?” Catelyn asked, looking up at him.

Tywin tucked a finger underneath her chin. “No, you do not have to do so tonight, my lady,” he said before he kissed her on top of the head. He left the room, two servants entering in his stead so they could clean up the room.

Catelyn sat in the chair, unmoving, for a very long time, before she too left the room so that she could sleep. However, sleep would not find her for a very long time; and she was still awake when Tywin came to bed, slipping under the covers beside her and yet not bothering her at all. It felt warmer with him next to her, which was a thought that only kept her awake even longer.


	8. The Surprise

Life became as normal as possible in King's Landing for Catelyn. Somehow or another, she began to grow comfortable in her new life. After all, it was all she had and knew anymore. She had decided after the first three months of her marriage that she could either dwell and suffer greatly or try to deal with things and suffer a little less. No doubt there would be suffering.  No doubt there would be mourning. No doubt she would always harbor resentment towards the people that surrounded her on a daily basis.

But she could not let it consume her. That would mean that they had won. And so Catelyn swallowed her pride and became a good Lannister wife. She would never be queen of the court, like Tywin had once said, but she would show these ladies what real women were made of. She was steel. She would not break, no matter how many times the lion bit or the court whispered. Trout were supposed to be prey, but not her. She would not allow herself to be the victim.

There were plenty of rumors about her to be spread at court, most of them she could laugh at. Her reputation and what people thought of her meant little to her. Even Tywin gave most of the rumors little credit. He knew what his lady wife was like and he knew what she was not. But some infuriated her. She had heard one about Ned. The handmaiden that had been tittering about “that traitorous old Stark Hand” was near tears once Catelyn was done with her. If these people were not going to show her any mercy, then neither would she. Of course Tywin had been told of his wife's cruelties –Cersei had told him herself – but he had merely waved them away.

 _"Do you expect me to apologize to this girl for her inability to be discreet and stupidity in crossing my wife?"_ he had questioned. Cersei had stormed out in a flurry of skirts and fury.

Catelyn could handle everything thrown her way: from the duties she now had as Tywin's wife; her strange role in the court; her private grief and mourning; and even both queens that vied for the attention of the little boy king. Maergery Tyrell was warm as ever to her new good grandmother, but she had a feeling that the girl found it amusing as well. There was only twenty years that separated them. Catelyn felt a strange sense of pity for the girl.

 _You will be one of us one day,_ she could not help but think. Maergery, for all her cunning and beauty, was a child of summer. She had not tasted a true winter just yet, despite being twice widowed. Catelyn had thought that she had feasted on all that she could bear.

But what she couldn't handle was this. She could not handle what her body was doing to her now. It responded to his touches more than she wanted it to; it grew more at ease with his hands on her. It wasn’t allowed; it shouldn’t happen. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since she had been warmed by a man's touch, but this was not what she wanted. She could not bear this. She could not take this, her own body betraying her, even her emotions and mind. And now her body, failing her – she did not understand why she was now at war with herself when she also still felt like she was at war with the Lannisters.

Catelyn roamed the castle for a good time before she found herself in front of Maester Pycelle's office. She paced the hallway there, warring with herself. Should she speak to him first and voice her concerns or wait for Tywin? At Winterfell, she had always gone to Maester Luwin for council, especially for this, but she had trusted him. In all honesty, she trusted Jaime Lannister more than this Grand Master. She remembered that he had allowed Jon Arryn to die and had also had a hand in betraying Ned. No, she could not go to him for this. She would trust Varys with this secret before Maester Pycelle, but knowing the Spider, he had known all this would happen before her. She turned on her heels and walked to the sept.

It took everything in her not to seek out Tywin now, but she knew how furious he would be if she interrupted him while he was working. He wouldn’t strike her or anything, but she was wary of angering him in any shape or form. He could cut her contact from people at a whim; and she did not think she could bear that, even if she sometimes loathed the people she was stuck with. _When did I start caring about angering him?_ But it didn't matter. He was in the middle of a meeting with the small council. Maester Pycelle probably hadn't even been in his office even if she had wanted to speak with him. She was being so foolish; she wasn’t thinking straight.

Catelyn forced herself to return to her chambers after lighting candles to the Mother and Crone. She should have been with some of the highborn ladies, talking about this or that, hearing the new gossip, but she felt like she might either throw up or smack one of them if she did that. They never talked about anything important, at least not in her opinion. The times they did talk about things that intrigued her, they mostly laughed off and never talked about them again. Political intrigue and politics was something she talked about with Tywin, not the ladies married to highborn lords. There was no sense in trying to rest or lie down in bed either though, so she paced the room instead.

What she was truly desperate for was companionship. Everyone here was so fake and playing a game. Tywin was the only one that was honest with her, even though he too was playing a game. Their marriage was a part of that game, but he never lied to her. That much she could at least appreciate, even if it hurt at times. She was sick of all the fake pleasantries and smiles; she wanted to tear the smiles right off everyone’s faces. _If you think I'm a traitor and a waste,_ she wanted to scream, _then say it to my face, not my back._

She yearned for her family. She was desperate for Edmure, who was being held captive at Casterly Rock along with his pregnant wife Roslin Frey. From what she had heard, they were doing...well enough. There had been no contact allowed between them yet, even though she had asked many a times. No or not yet was always the answer. Then there was her uncle. _The Blackfish, my hero._ She had been close to her uncle from the day she was born. He might not have gotten on well with her father, but he had always been there for her. She needed him the most now. After she had freed Jaime Lannister and many of the men had shunned her, he alone had been fierce and steadfast in his love and concern for her.

 _Where are you, uncle?_ Catelyn thought miserably as she stared out her window. From what she had heard, he had vanished in the dead of night, right under the noses of the Freys and Lannisters; and no one knew of his whereabouts. She hoped he was alive, safe, and warm, wherever he was. If she had been a little girl, she might have dreamed of him saving her, as knights in songs often did, but now she was old and bitter and knew better. Anyways, she would not want him to try.

Just when she did not think she could take it anymore and she might seek Tywin out anyways, the door to their bedchambers opened and her lord husband stepped inside. A strange mixture of relief and panic washed over Catelyn; and she completely froze, much like a deer the moment when it was spotted by a predator. For a moment, she wished time would reverse and he would not have walked in at all. It was completely contradictory to what she had been thinking just seconds ago, but she felt it all the same. She felt like that all the time now though. She felt this and she felt that and she should never have been capable of feeling both at the same time.

(She both hated him near her and wanted him by her side.)

Tywin seemed to immediately know that something was wrong with her. A look flashed across his face – a look that someone might think was a look of concern – but Catelyn could not be sure of what it was. “My lady?” He stepped closer to her, somewhat hesitant. No, that wasn’t right. Lord Tywin was never hesitant. He was careful, but not hesitant. “You are very pale.”

“I…” Her mouth felt dry and her throat seemed to constrict on her, but she was not going to cry. Quite the contrary, in fact, she felt nothing. She felt a strange sense of blankness as she stared at her lord husband, unsure of what to say or do. She felt his hands on her arms, his fingers warming her even through the sleeves of her dress; and it was only then that she realized that she’d forgotten to light a fire in the hearth and the room had grown cold. Part of her thought about ripping away from him and tending to the fire, but she could not move. She could only look at him.

Tywin was older than her, but he was still handsome. Jaime had made some quip days ago about how Lannisters were blessed with the ability to retain their youthful looks and also outlive everyone else. She had seen him before though, when he had been Jaime’s age. They looked much alike, although Tywin had kept his hair short, as Jaime had only just now started doing. Golden blonde hair, bright green eyes – they were such Lannister features. Both Cersei and Jaime had his nose as well. And Tommen – the boy was pure Lannister to the bone in looks.

All of her children, save for Arya alone, had favored her. When Ned had first come back from the war and held his son for the first time, he had made a comment that it looked as if his son had not a single drop of the North in him. (But oh, Robb may have looked all South, but the North had burned in his blood hotter than the springs under Winterfell.) Sansa looked so much like Catelyn had at her age that it was remarkable. Bran had a little more of the North in him, his hair a bit darker, but Rickon too had had her hair and eyes and nose.

“Catelyn.” It was not a question. His eyes bore into hers. Green against blue.

She wondered what color their child’s eyes would be.

“I am with child, my lord.”

Catelyn could sharply remember the fear that had gnawed at her day and night the first time she had realized she was pregnant. Eighteen, newly married, her distant lord husband off to war, unsure if she would remain married or become a widow, home at Riverrun with her father and little brother to reassure her… She had been so scared. The maester had told her not to worry, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Would her child have a father? Would she be a good mother? Would she be able to raise her child alone if need be? Would she have to remarry and then what would happen to this child? What if she lost the child altogether? What if she died during childbirth, just as her lady mother had? What if she left her child alone in the world with no parents to speak of? She hadn’t even truly known who the father of her child was, just his name and his solemn face and the gentle touch of his hands on her porcelain skin.

She’d had four other children since then. She had lost one child, in between Robb and Sansa; and it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her life. The memory of waking up to blood everywhere in her bed had been ingrained into her mind. They had thought about naming the child after her mother if it was a girl or after an old Stark king in the stories Ned told Robb if it was a boy. After that though, she had sworn to never lose a child again, even if she had no control over it. _I lost all my children in the end._

Now though…

It was Lord Tywin Lannister’s child she was carrying, not her beloved Ned’s. She was carrying the enemy’s child – the child of the man that had had a hand in killing her last and oldest son. And yet she already felt attached.

Tywin did not react at first. He merely took a measured breath as he looked her in the face, as if he was trying to determine whether she was lying or not. She most certainly wasn’t. “Are you for certain?”

Catelyn nearly started to laugh. A feeling of hysteria swept over her and for one brief moment she thought she might laugh, cry, and collapse to the ground all at once. Instead, she remained very still, perhaps held by Tywin’s slowly tightening grip on her arms, and did not blink. “I have bore five children,” were the distant words that came out of her mouth, though she could not be for certain that she was saying them herself, “I think I know what it feels like when I am pregnant.”

There was a grim look about Tywin. Most men would be happy, overjoyed, excited even. Should the child turn out to be a boy, he would have the heir that he so desperately needed. (No, that was wrong; he was not desperate about anything. But with his oldest son the Lord Commander and his other a dwarf and condemned and supposed kingslayer as well…) But Tywin was made of stone.

And he knew just as well as she did that a new life could also mean her death. _Joanna died giving birth to a monster; and my mother died giving birth to a stillborn._ As scary as it was, it was not uncommon for women to die during childbirth. Sansa’s birth had been difficult one. Maester Luwin had believed that she’d gotten too pregnant too soon after losing the second child, but she had been stubborn about giving Ned more heirs. Now she was to give Tywin an heir, if the gods were…. If they were what? Good? Cruel? She could not be for certain of anything anymore.

“How long?”

“It’s been nearly two months since I had my last moonblood.” The response was so distant, so not her. It was like she wasn’t saying anything at all, but that was her voice and that was her mouth moving and that was the truth of it. This week, she should have been on her moonblood, but just as it had not come last month, it did not come this month either. She had tried to shrug the first time off because of stress, as sometimes happened to women, but two times in a row…

“You must be… We must be very careful,” Tywin told her, his grip on her arms loosening. Was he concerned about her or about the baby in her belly? His hands slid down her arms until they reached her hands and his fingers intertwined with hers. His hands were so warm. She had been hiding in the cold for so long. “Have you seen Maester Pycelle about this?”

“No,” Catelyn replied, “I will not go to him.”

“Catelyn–”

“I will not,” she snapped, not caring if it angered or frustrated him. “The man is a disgrace to the Citadel. I don’t care if he’s the Grand Maester; he is nothing but poison. You will need to find someone else.”

Tywin gave her a hard look, but she looked at him unflinchingly. “I will write to the archmaesters at the Citadel. I do not want anything to happen to you–”

“You mean, you do not want anything to happen to your heir?” A vicious streak seemed to tear through her. She hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted any of this. (And yet, she did, oh she did.) She ripped her hands out of his, taking a staggering step back from him. “You don’t care about me; you care about your legacy and House and nothing more and–”

“I _do_ care about you, Catelyn.” The fierceness in his voice caught her off guard nearly as much as his words. How someone could say something like that with such anger in their eyes at the same time… “And yes, I do care about the legacy of House Lannister, but whether you believe me or not, I am concerned with your well-being as well.”

Catelyn bit her lip, so hard that she could taste her red blood. How was she was supposed to respond to that? Her chest rose and fell quickly as she tried to breathe again, her heart thumping against her chest so hard that she thought it might burst through. She wanted to spit in his face; she wanted to rush into his embrace. All of a sudden, she was eighteen again, pregnant for the first time, and scared out of her wits – but she could not show it, not to anyone, not even herself.

“You swear you will find a different maester to tend to me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Tywin grabbed her hands and pulled her back to him. She allowed herself to be tugged close to him, allowed his scent to envelope her, allowed herself to feel safe. She hated it all the same, but she could not help it. “I said the vows,” he told her. “I swore to protect you, and so I will.”


	9. The Secret

She told no one of the pregnancy, save for Tywin. She didn’t want any of the ladies of the court to know and she most certainly did not want either of the queens to know either. The moment that Cersei Lannister found out that she was going to be a big sister again would be the moment that the feud between Catelyn and the Queen Regent would explode. Catelyn was sure of it. She could already hear the sneering remarks and the biting comments that would slip out of the blonde’s pretty mouth; and Catelyn could not take it, even if they were only in her mind.

Tywin wanted to keep a lid on this anyways. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know that Catelyn was with child. Perhaps it was partly to protect her, but she thought it was also to not get his hopes up. Though he hadn’t voiced his concerns that much to her, she felt as if she could tell that he was concerned with her progress. Having a child was a delicate situation with him. He’d lost one wife to it; and Catelyn had lost her mother to it. Who was to say that tragedy would not strike again? The thought scared Catelyn more than she could ever remember being scared.

She could remember being worried that something might go wrong during the births of her children with Ned, but she had never been scared for some reason. Ned had been so reassuring. After Robb’s birth, which had been the most nerve-wracking since she’d felt so alone, she had reassured herself that she would be fine. Yes, it was true that her mother had died while giving birth for the seventh time, but Catelyn had willed herself not to be scared. Even after losing the second child so suddenly, she’d forced herself to not panic. Now, however, she couldn’t help but feel frayed at the edges. She would tug on the sleeves of her dress and go into bouts of sadness and worry.

Catelyn tugged at her dress around her waist. They were starting to get snugger around her middle where her belly was beginning to grow. In another month, she would not be able to hide it. She was going to have to get new dresses made soon. Even if she did that quietly, it would somehow get out or some of the women would notice the new dresses and ask what they had been made for. Everyone here was so nosey; they had to know everyone’s business. Catelyn would rather just keep to herself, but it was hard to do that with people pressing their noses in her business day and night. No matter what she did, she felt like she could not get the dress to adjust properly. She looked like she was starting to get fat. Catelyn had only concerned herself with things like that when she had been younger and eager to impress Brandon, but it was grating to hear and see the other ladies of the court titter after her and make comments under their breath about how she was getting older and losing her beauty.

 _Age leaves no one behind,_ Catelyn thought somewhat sourly. Gods be good, she was starting to become even bitterer as the pregnancy grew.

She was rubbing her face, already tired from having to deal with a few of the highborn ladies, when she heard the door open and spotted Tywin walking inside from behind her fingers.

“Are you prepared for the feast, my lady?” he asked as he walked up to her.

Catelyn dropped her hands from her face to her side. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she sighed. Tommen’s name day had come upon them. The boy king was another year closer to ruling in his own right, though he was still very much a child of summer. The boy was terribly sweet to her, growing much fonder than she could have ever expected. It both warmed and hurt her at the same time, though he did not know it.

Tywin stopped in front of her. She thought that he might hold out his arm for her, as he sometimes did, but surprised her when he gently put his hands over the bump of her belly. She watched the way a shadow came over his face, dark and foreboding. It always did that when he looked at her these days, as if only bad thoughts could creep into his mind. His jaw was set and his mouth went into a grim line. It was like she’d been marked for death in his eyes, but he didn’t want her to be. His hands were warm, as they always were, though they barely touched the little bump.

(It was like he was _afraid_ , but Tywin Lannister could not be afraid. He just couldn’t be. That was preposterous.)

Catelyn slapped his hands away. “Stop it,” she huffed. He looked up at her sharply, but said nothing, that strange look still on his face. It was enough to drive her mad. She had enough to worry about without having to wonder what was on his mind. He’d grown much quieter with her ever since she’d told him that she was pregnant. It was almost like he was distancing himself from her, though he did not seem to be aware that he was doing it. Biting her lip, she grabbed his hands and put them back on her belly. “I’m not dead yet. Stop looking at me like I am.”

It was all too _strange_. Five months ago, Tywin had more than likely wanted her dead. He had probably thought that things would be easier if all the Starks and Tullys were dead. Now she had his baby in her belly, a legitimate child; and he didn’t want her dead. Now she was somehow comforting him when he had never once comforted her. (Or had he, in his own strange way?) No one could have ever predicted that they would be in this situation. She had thought that she would be the one having difficulty with this marriage, but for the first time since the proposal had been brought up, she could see that Tywin was starting to hit a bump in the road.

And it wasn’t that their marriage was terrible and didn’t work.

It was because their marriage, however absurd, however horrific the circumstances, however much they had despised each other, _did_ work.

“We’re going to be late,” was all that Tywin said as he gazed at her.

“We mustn’t have that,” Catelyn quipped dryly, letting go of his hands and rolling her eyes. “What would the court say to the Hand of the King being late to the King’s name day feast?”

Though Tywin did not smile or laugh in response, the shadow left his face. She felt a tiny bloom of pride at being able to do that. They left the room without another word and headed in the direction of the Great Hall where the feast was being held; and even though they were not late, the room was already filled to the brim with lords and ladies that had come to celebrate their king’s tenth name day.

The moment their king spotted them in the Hall, he jumped out of his chair and bounded over towards them in a hurry. Catelyn did not miss the exasperated look on Cersei’s face as the boy ran to them. It matched the look on Tywin’s face. No doubt he’d never expected that he would be the Hand to a child, especially one as gentle and kind as Tommen, but there was no stopping the boy. He was a child. A few of the people around them looked quietly amused, but the moment that Tywin caught sight of them, they changed their amused expressions into courteous, nervous smiles.

Catelyn curtseyed when Tommen reached them. “Are you enjoying your name day so far, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” Tommen said with pure excitement. “I made sure that no beets are being served during any of the courses.” Catelyn could not help but smile at that. He seemed to remember himself suddenly and swelled up, trying to make himself look older. “I thought you might be late, but mother said that you might be too tired to come.”

“I would not miss your name day for anything,” Catelyn told him with a sweet smile on her face. He smiled too, made a funny little bow even though he was the king and they were below him, and then walked back to his seat at the table next to his mother.

Catelyn could not deny that her relationship with Tommen Baratheon was an odd one, perhaps even more so than her relationship with Tywin. At one point, her son had been attempting to usurp this little boy. They had all thought that Lannisters were cruel and needed to be dealt with harshly, but Tommen was so kind that it shocked her even now. Her own children had been made of harder stuff than him, even Sansa with her dreams. She had loathed Tywin at one point, but it was far too difficult to be angry or spiteful towards the boy king that Robb had been trying to dethrone. He had been shy at first, but when he’d begun to open up to her, it had been hard to keep him at a distance, especially when she was able to see the way that everyone was trying to toughen him up.

Before Tywin could make any muttering comment about the softness of his grandson, Catelyn gave him a quick look and then headed towards her seat with him having little choice but to follow. It wasn’t long after they sat down that they were flocked by other people. Everyone seemed to want to speak with Tywin, though not many people were nearly as keen on talking to her. They still shied away from her, as if her ill luck would rub off on them and something horrific would too fall on them. That suited Catelyn well enough. Besides, it was somewhat amusing to sit back and watch as Tywin grew more and more exasperated and irritated with each person that came up to him. Every time he went to take a bite of his food, someone new would come up and want to talk with him, congratulate him, anything.

‘Wine, m’lady?”

Catelyn looked ahead to see one of the servants holding a pitcher of wine. She shook her head and he went on to fill Tywin’s cup. When she looked around, she noticed that Cersei was looking at her with narrowed eyes. It suddenly hit Catelyn how unusual it was for her to continuously turn down wine when she’d relied on it to calm her nerves during all the other social gatherings like this. Perhaps no one would think anything of it if they did not watch her, but Cersei always seemed to take note of her change in actions. It didn’t help that half the handmaidens in the Red Keep were Cersei’s spies.

So it wouldn’t seem so tense between them, at least not to everyone else that were blissfully unaware of the bubbling hatred beneath the surface of their relationship, Catelyn smiled at the Queen Regent. “You do not seem to be enjoying yourself, Cersei. It is your son’s tenth name day. You should be beaming with pride and joy.” Catelyn had always felt like that during one of his children’s name days. _Let them see old age,_ she would think, but that was from another lifetime ago.

Cersei frowned at the use of her first name. “Neither do you, _Catelyn_ ,” she said, practically spitting out her name. “You haven’t even touched your wine yet. Is something amiss?”

“Of course not,” Catelyn replied coolly. “I merely do not take pleasure in the idea of getting drunk at a child’s name day celebration.”

Cersei’s cheeks turned pink ever so slightly, but perhaps that was because she was on her third glass of wine. While she was by no means anywhere near Robert’s level, Cersei seemed to enjoy her red wine.  Catelyn had noticed that Cersei drank it whenever she was angry or cross with someone, which meant that she drank it whenever she was in Catelyn’s presence. She’d probably done the same with her brother Tyrion. “Perhaps you are trying to watch yourself.” Cersei leaned sideways in her seat towards Catelyn and quietly added, “You _are_ gaining a bit of weight, I’ve noticed. You’re getting comfortable with Lannister gold, I see.”

The two women stared at one another in stony silence. The look on Cersei’s face said everything. She clearly had her suspicions about what was going on, but Catelyn was not going to be the one to confirm them. Catelyn did not want to tell Cersei that she was pregnant – she was somewhat wary of how Cersei would react (she was concerned that Cersei might try to somehow bring it to an end) – but she could not outright lie either. It was like she was afraid of jinxing herself somehow.

Right when Cersei opened her mouth, perhaps to voice her suspicions, a golden hand swept in between them to pick up Catelyn’s untouched wine. Both women looked up to see Jaime downing the entirety of the cup and then setting it back down with his good hand. There was a smug look on his face as he said, “I’ve danced with my sister once tonight. I thought it might be my mother’s turn next. Unless” – and here, he tilted his head towards Tywin – “you want to sit next to my father while everyone in the kingdom bores and aggravates him into starting another war.”

Catelyn looked from Cersie to Jaime and then glanced quickly back at Tywin, who was busy listening to Lord Mace Tyrell, who looked nowhere close to stopping to even breathe. “That would be lovely, Jaime,” Catelyn said, smiling tightly and standing up. Cersei looked fit to bust as Jaime walked Catelyn down to the dance floor with everyone else. She wanted to thank him for disrupting the disaster, but didn’t want to be too obvious.

It was only when they began to dance did Jaime lean in and whisper, “She thinks you’re with child.”

“Does she now?” Catelyn hummed and danced as if his words did not bother her. “Why does she think that?”

“Oh, she has all these fanciful notions and ideas in her head,” Jaime replied, shrugging his shoulders. He danced quite well, to be honest. They’d not danced with each other at her wedding to his father. Perhaps he’d been the only man in the room that she hadn’t danced with. “You’re not drinking wine, apparently you’ve got a bump or you’re gaining weight, our father is acting strange…” He looked at her, searching her face for an answer, but then looked away and spun her about. “She keeps going on about how you’re trying to steal the Rock from me, but it’s not mine. I care naught for it.”

Catelyn furrowed her brow. “You’re in the Kingsguard. You cannot be the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“I know _that_ ,” Jaime said with a light laugh, “but try telling that to Cersei.”

They danced for a little bit longer until she felt a hand on her shoulder and a very familiar voice saying, “Do you mind if I take a turn, Ser Jaime? It has been an awful long time since I’ve danced with Cat.”


	10. The Betrayer

Catelyn froze the moment she heard that voice. It had been a few years since she’d heard it, but the memory came back sharp and clear. He’d always had a smooth voice, one that she had closed her eyes and listened to as a child. He had always had a way with words, even though he had not been particularly strong or brave. Even as a child though, he’d always had his voice. Smooth as silk, deadly as a knife. He had always been so convincing with that silver tongue of his – the same lying tongue she now wanted to rip out.

Jaime must’ve felt the way that she’d tensed up because he stopped moving; and they both stopped dancing. He got a good look at who was standing behind her when his eyes flickered back to hers. She was looking at Jaime, but she wasn’t seeing him. She wanted to tell him to take her back to the table; she wanted to tell him to take his sword and shove it hard in the gut of the man standing behind her; she wanted to tell him to take her back to his father. Instead, she let go of him, slowly, shakily. He let go of her as well, his golden hand falling to his side and his left to the pommel of his sword, as if he knew what was on her mind. He looked like he wanted to say her name or call out to his father or do something, but he remained quiet. Jaime was not the quiet sort.

Taking a deep breath, Catelyn slowly turned around to face the other guest. Her skirts twirled at her feet. The moment she looked at him, one hand instinctively went to her belly, as if to protect the child growing inside of her from the phantom knife that seemed to hang in the air between them. “Lord Baelish,” she greeted icily, “I did not expect you in King’s Landing when you’re supposed to be ruling in the Vale.”

Petyr Baelish smiled. It was a handsome smile, charming as ever, but it only managed to make her feel dirty. “I’m not the ruler of the Vale,” he pointed out in a voice that was practically cheerful. “There is Robert Arryn, the Lord Protector of the Vale, and Lysa as well.” Yes, of course, how could Catelyn ever forget her dear sister Lysa? Her own sister who had turned her away from her home in the end, but accepted Petyr, the man that had betrayed them both, right back into her bed. It stung more than Catelyn could say. “I could not miss the king’s name day; and I have business to attend to here before I return to the Vale in a week.”

 _You should return to the Vale now before I have you killed,_ was the first thing that came to Catelyn.

Her entire body was tense and a wave of nausea rolled over her. She hadn’t felt like this since her wedding to Tywin. Still, she could not let him see that his presence had shaken her, even though she felt faint. “You’re a very busy man these days, my lord,” she said, her words stiff and distant. “Surely you do not have time to waste at a party.”

“I have time for one dance, Cat.” Petyr held out a hand to her, gentle and warm, as he had always been. He’d been like that when he’d lied to her face as well about whose knife had been wielded to kill her son. He’d been like that when he’d lied to her Ned’s face about being on his side and helping him. She was sure he’d worn the same smile that no longer reached his eyes completely when he’d betrayed Ned as well.

Catelyn looked at his hand and then his face and then took a small step away from him, nearly bumping into Jaime. _I trusted you,_ she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. She tried desperately to hide the looks of accusation from her eyes, tried to keep her face from paling, tried to hold herself together even though she felt anger and despair come over her again so viciously. It was true that she hadn’t felt like this since her wedding. Strangely enough, she hadn’t expected to ever feel like this again.

“I–” Catelyn knitted her brow together and gripped the material of her dress tightly where her hand lay splayed across her belly. Petyr would kill this child too if it meant being able to get what he wanted, just as he’d allowed Ned to be killed. He had told her that she meant so much to him, and yet he had lied and played the game so that she was in this position now. Yes, she had been the one to kidnap Tyrion Lannister, but Petyr, her Petyr, her childhood best friend, the boy who had been like a brother to her, the silly boy who had loved her, had been the one to trick her and make her feel stupid and guilty. “I cannot, Petyr, I–”

Her legs felt wobbly underneath her. When she turned away from him, it was too quick, making her feely dizzy. But when she reached out to grab Jaime’s arm to steady herself, she felt cloth instead of his armor; and the green eyes that she met were not Jaime’s, though they were still flecked with Lannister gold. She went completely still, gripping his arm tightly, the blood rushing from her face even more as her skin paled.

“Catelyn,” Tywin said, her name like a breath of air coming from him. She was suddenly able to breathe again; and the air swooped into her lungs, nearly making her choke. Though she was able to hide it for the most part, Catelyn could not keep the distressed look from flashing in her eyes. The look on his face spoke of concern at a volume that was far too loud to be seen in public for him. He put a hand on her elbow to steady her further, never taking his eyes away from her face. “You look unwell. You’re pale and shaky.”

“I am fine,” Catelyn insisted, looking down at the ground. “I-I think I danced for too long with Ser Jaime and ate too little during the day so far.”

It was a weak lie, one that all three men listening would be able to see through, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything at the moment. All she wanted right now was to get away in one piece before she reached for the dagger at Jaime’s side and plunged it through Petyr’s throat.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Petyr said, sounding so bloody genuinely grievous. “I did not mean to bother your lady wife.”

“I’m sure you meant no harm,” Tywin replied, but there was an edge to his voice that Catelyn could not help but notice. He put his other hand on her arm, turning her to guide her through the crowd. Jaime stepped back away from them. He must have signaled for his father to come down the moment she’d turned to speak with Petyr. “Come now, perhaps you should lie down for a bit before returning to the feast.”

“Cat,” Petyr suddenly said. She could not stop herself from turning her head to look at him, but she wished that she had. There was an apologetic expression on his face, one that she thought did reach his eyes, one that she thought he might have actually meant, and that hurt her more than one that he did not. He didn’t need to say the words for her to know what he was thinking: _I’m sorry for everything._ But that only made her stomach turn even more. “Feel better, my lady. You should be able to enjoy yourself.”

Catelyn nodded her head, muttering, “And you as well, my lord,” before turning back around and allowing Tywin to lead her away from the dance floor and up the stairs. They passed the table where Cersei was watching them carefully and left the room as calmly as possible. She hated the way a few people’s eyes were on them, but she ignored them as best as they could. _Let them watch us,_ she thought. _What will it matter?_ If there should be some sort of new gossip about her, then so be it. The words of these petty people were nothing compared to the pain she had felt upon seeing Petyr. _I will never trust anyone here like I did him. I’ll never trust anyone again._

They were halfway to the Tower of the Hand when Catelyn stopped, forcing Tywin to come to a stop as well. She pulled away from him and leaned against the wall, putting one hand on her forehead to cover her eyes, the other still resting on her little bump. There seemed to be so much hanging in the air between them and yet neither one of them could say anything. What could be said, after all? Petyr’s betrayal of her late husband had enabled Tywin to take Ned’s place as the Hand of the King. It had been Petyr’s careful manipulations that had enabled House Lannister and House Tyrell to come together in order to seal the Iron Throne’s victory. It had been Petyr himself that had brought the Vale to their side. He was a good asset to have, one that Tywin would never dispose of until it became clear that he could not be trusted. His poor, little wife’s feelings meant nothing.

Tywin was gazing at her closely, but he kept a few feet in between them. “Catelyn…”

“I’ve heard the rumors going on about him,” Catelyn said, closing her eyes from behind her hand, “how he took mine and Lysa’s maidenheads.” A grim smile escaped her. “He’s only being half-truth, but I once was told that a half-truth was a whole lie. He didn’t take mine, but I know that people think he did. I don’t much care about that. I really don’t care about something that happened another lifetime ago, during a different war.” She dropped her hand to her side and leaned her head back against the wall. “But everyone also knows what he did – how he betrayed Ned Stark for the Iron Throne, like a loyal, little servant. And if I hear one person speak about it while he is here, I will have their heads.”

“Are you sure about that? I have only known you for half a year, and you do not seem the violent vengeful type.”

“Well maybe I am,” Catelyn snapped, opening her eyes and glaring at her lord husband. “Maybe I’m tired of being the only one calling for peace when all everyone ever seems to want is war. Maybe I’m tired of watching everyone I love die while their murderers get everything they ever dreamed of. Maybe I’m just sick and tired of all the fake smiles and pleasantries and-and e _verything_.” She bit her lip and glanced at him, feeling weak and foolish, something she loathed feeling and looking like in front of Tywin. She knew he couldn’t stand things like that; and yet he looked at her placidly, soaking in her thoughts and words. “I don’t want to have to stand there and look that lying scum in the eyes and remember that it was me that he tricked – me that acted so stupidly and trusted him so blindly – and then smile and thank him for his kindness, but I know that I’ll have to. That’s all this place is: looking in the eyes of people you hate and thanking them for the knife they put in your back.”

She thought that Tywin looked like he wanted to pull her closer to him, but he couldn’t do it. Because he too had been someone that had stabbed her in the back – he had stabbed her in the heart and twisted until she could barely bare it any longer. And after he had done so, she had been expected to thank him for his mercy, for allowing her to live, for bringing her into his family so graciously.

In the end, no matter how well he treated her or how he made her feel warm again or like a human being, someone worthwhile, even though he had given her a second chance at being a mother, he’d also helped take away all of that in the first place. Because he still held the knife at her throat as Edmure’s life hung in the balance. Because he still held the knife in her back and would never be able to pull it out completely, even if she was carrying his child and heir now.

“I need…” Catelyn shook her head and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I need some time to myself. I will return to the feast shortly.”

Gods, Tywin looked like he wanted to hold her against him – like he wanted to tell her that she was wrong – like he wanted to comfort her. It was moments like this one that confused her the most. She was only in this situation because of him and yet she both wanted and loathed comfort from him at the same time. It shouldn’t have been possible. Just as she both loved and hated this child growing inside of her. (But no, she could never truly hate the child, because he or she was a part of her now and always would be, just as Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon had been before.) She wondered if he felt just as conflicted as she did; and if he ever felt angry and content with himself when he held her against him.

“I will send Ser Broderick to retrieve you before the presents are given,” Tywin told her instead of saying the thousands of things that he could have said. Part of Catelyn wanted to scream at him to be honest with her. She just wanted him to open up about how he felt – if he wanted and didn’t want this and these feelings at the same time. He was open with her on occasion, but never completely, and she wanted that. She was desperate for it. They were going to have a child together; and there were nights when she felt so alone except for when he was beside her and that shouldn’t have been right or possible but it was. She felt safe around him – protected from all harm – and yet he was the greatest danger of all.

All Catelyn could do in the end though was nod her head and meander back to their bedchambers, lost in her thoughts, as Tywin watched her go.


	11. The Planning

“M’lady?” No answer. “M’lady Catelyn, are you, ah, are you awake?”

Catelyn opened her eyes blearily, unsure of the hour or day. It took her a moment to register whose voice had woken her. It was Ser Broderick; she could always tell when it was him by the way his voiced lilted up in pitch at random words while he spoke. It made him sound more cheerful and also plenty young. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled herself into the sitting position and looked around the room. Light had filled the room from outside the canopy of the bed; it was much later in the day than she’d anticipated sleeping.

“M’lady?”

“I’m awake, Ser Broderick,” she called back. She could hear the sigh of relief in his voice. “Let me change into something appropriate.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

He looked like such a Northerner, but he spoke like a Southerner. They were so much more proper down here than they were in the North, so much more tied down by titles and customs.

Catelyn slipped out of the bed, pushing the veil away, and walked over to get her robe. When she tied the belt around her waist, she noted that she had to make it a little looser than before. Her belly was growing fast. It was getting much harder to hide these days. Already, her clothes were too tight; and Tywin had pointed out that new dresses would need to be started on very soon. She walked over to the door and pushed it open to peer outside. Ser Broderick stood in his gold cloak armor, looking around the place innocently, as if he hadn’t stood outside this door countless of times and everything he saw was new to him.

She couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Sorry, I did not plan on sleeping this late.”

Ser Broderick turned to face her, a bright smile on his young face. He was trying to grow a beard, she saw, but to little avail. Robb had been able to grow one easily, but it came with being from the North. Perhaps his difficulty came from being in the South for so long. “It is of no fault of yours, m’lady,” he replied cheerfully. She could tell that he was trying to speak more properly, if only for her. “Lord Tywin told me to get you. He said that a maester from Oldtown is here to tend to you?” The smile on his face faltered. “I wasn’t aware you were sick, m’lady. Are you…are you alright?”

“Yes, Ser Broderick,” Catelyn replied, feeling touched that he looked so concerned, “I’m quite alright, merely feeling a bit under the weather.”

Though he’d offered to retrieve her maids for her, Catelyn waved the young knight away and changed clothes. She couldn’t just walk around in her night gown and robe, as much as she’d like to. It took her a bit longer, considering the state of her belly and the complexities of Southern dress, but she managed to dress quickly enough and then left with Broderick to find the new maester. She was terribly grateful that Tywin had found a maester that was not Maester Pycelle to tend to her. More than anything, she had been sure that the old man would have gone straight to Cersei with news of Catelyn’s pregnancy.

On the way to the room where she was meeting him, Broderick talked about some new gossip he’d heard from some of the kitchen staff. He wasn’t much into gossip himself, she could tell, but he told her these things in order to help distract her. She appreciated it, but didn’t let him know that she’d caught on. She just laughed when he got animated about a story or how he’d flush a bit when something crude came up and apologize when he forgot himself. _He is so young and lively,_ she thought for the hundredth time. _How has he not let his losses cripple him into nothing?_

Upon reaching their destination, Broderick knocked and held the door open for her. “I’ll be right outside should you need anything, m’lady.”

Catelyn thanked him and then stepped inside to meet her new maester. It felt strange to have someone here just for her, but she liked it. She supposed Tywin Lannister could practically get anything he wanted, save for a dragon. Maester Varden was a man with about ten years over Tywin Lannister and possessed a lot more energy than Grand Maester Pycelle. He was also plenty more pleasant to speak with. He never brought up who she was and only seemed concerned about hers and her child’s well-being.

“How far along would you say you are?” he asked while feeling her bare belly. He had a funny twinge in his accent from having travelled the Free Cities for so long.

“Just shy four months.”

Varden smiled at her. “Nearly on the dot, I’d say.” He felt her belly with his hands. It was definitely starting to show more. After Sansa, she had noticed that she began to visibly show right around four months. Of course she could tell beforehand and so could Ned, when they lay together, but no one else noticed until she was four months pregnant. “And this is not your first time giving birth.”

He hadn’t meant to bring up painful memories, but it was hard not to when this matter was concerned. She was pregnant again. A few years ago, she’d hoped to be able to give Ned another child, but instead, she was giving Tywin one. She’d lost all her children and now she was having a new one. There were nights when she felt guilty, when she felt like a bad mother; and she prayed to the gods that her children’s souls did not feel like she was trying to replace them. She couldn’t. Still, the guilt seeped in, like it or not.

Catelyn bit her lip. “No, I’ve given birth five times before this – all healthy.”

“Any miscarriages?”

“Only once, in between my first and second child, around…fourteen years ago.”

Varden did not ask about her children. She was sure that, even if he didn’t know much of her, he knew who she was on a basic level; she was certain that he had been warned or told or heard that all of her children were dead for some reason or another. “That is good, very good.” He stood up straight, a hand on his back. “Of course we must take precautions because of your age. Naturally, childbirth becomes a lot more dangerous as women age. Seeing as how you have a history of healthy childbirths though, I believe we should remain optimistic.” All of this, she already knew. They would need his help in the coming months as she grew more pregnant. There would be draughts needed, dreamwine and maybe milk of the poppy, which she would always decline. This was just a formality, a meeting, to prepare her for the coming months. “Lord Tywin is very concerned with your well-being. I have been told to take every precaution necessary, but you’re quite healthy, if only a bit too thin still. Are you eating and sleeping well?”

“I could probably eat more,” Catelyn admitted, “and…there are…nightmares.”

“Would you like dreamwine?”

“No,” she said adamantly, shaking her head. She could not admit it, but she wanted the nightmares. They happened less often these days, but had started to reoccur once she’d found out that she was pregnant. Nearly all of them were about her children. Part of her was afraid that if she stopped dreaming about them, then their faces would begin to fade away from her memory and they would be nothing. She couldn’t handle that yet; she wasn’t ready to let go of them and probably never would be.

When all was said and done, they set up a time and date for their next meeting in a few weeks’ time, and then Catelyn walked out of the room. She expected Ser Broderick to still be there, but instead it was Tywin, like he hadn’t been able to wait to hear the news. Broderick was nowhere to be found. Tywin had probably sent him away once he’d arrived, no longer in need of the gold cloak’s services at the moment. Despite herself, Catelyn smiled as she walked up to him.

“So?” Tywin asked immediately. “What did he say?”

“That I’m fine and healthy,” Catelyn replied, rolling her eyes. “That you need not worry so much.”

There was that dark look on his face again. “Childbirth is dangerous.”

“So is war, and yet you’ve made an art out of it.” The words had a bite to them that she hadn’t meant to come out. It was true though. Tywin Lannister’s specialty was war and decimating Houses. It was not a light joke, but there were times when it was all she had. People might think it strange, but these were the facts of the matter. She’d married the man that had successfully destroyed yet another great House; and they both had to live with it. “The child seems to be growing strong.”

“He will be a lion, not a rose,” Tywin grumbled.

Catelyn surprisingly laughed. “Well, with all the roses suffocating this place, I wouldn’t be so sure.” She searched his face, a mild look on her own, and then placed her hands on his cheeks, his golden stubble rough against the soft palms of her hands. His eyes were locked on hers again. It was a more intimate gesture than she normally allowed when outside of their chambers. “The child could be a girl. You must remember that.”

“The child will be a boy.” Tywin had been adamant about that right after she’d told him. Normally she could tell, but with all the things going on, Catelyn felt like she couldn’t be sure of anything these days and she was hesitant to put a guess forward. “I know it.”

“At this rate, we are never going to agree on anything concerning this child,” Catelyn mused as she began to pull her hands away from him. “I am certain that everything will be okay; and you are unsure about the future. I am uncertain of the child’s gender; and you are sure it will be a boy. Things never change, do they?”

Tywin took her hands in his before she could bring them back to her sides. “Some things do.”

Catelyn’s breath hitched for a moment as she stared back at him, unsure of what she was supposed to say or do. To be honest, she couldn’t even be sure how it made her feel. (Except that it made her feel wonderful, terrible, hopeful, and scared.)


	12. The Visitor

_“Be there at seven sharp,”_ was what he’d told her the night before.

He hadn’t told her why, had only been slightly gruff with her when he spoke, but whenever she tried to inquire about why she was supposed to be in this specific room at seven at night, just before supper, he had simply brushed her off. She’d felt strangely irritated at the way he’d done that, as if she had grown used to him telling her things. And maybe she had grown used to that. It wasn’t like he kept a lot of secrets from her; and there were really no secrets to have. He seemed to know almost everything about her; and she felt like she knew so much about him. Whenever it came to his dealings with the small council, she knew that he would tell her if he felt particularly frustrated with the other members. He seemed almost thankful that it was Tommen on the throne and not Joffrey, who would’ve tried to stick his nose into things.

“The boy was regrettably…a mess,” he had told her a few nights ago. She hadn’t commented in return. It was probably fine for him to insult the dead boy king, but it wouldn’t be for her. Besides, he knew her feelings on the matter. Despite having been a child, she thought that Joffrey had been a monster. He’d had her husband beheaded and had commanded the Kingsguard to beat her daughter. A mess did not begin to cover it. “I will make sure that Tommen is different.”

“He’s a good boy,” she’d murmured.

Tywin had snorted at that. “A good boy, yes, but still weak. He’ll need to be stronger to rule this kingdom. He might have been a drunken lout, but the people of Westeros admired Robert Baratheon for his strength.”

Of course he was right about that. For all that Catelyn adored Tommen, for however good of a boy he was, he was not exactly the strong type. He was sweet, gentle even; and she’d grown to love that about him. He reminded her of Sansa, in his own strange way. Rickon had been a fierce babe; Bran too inquisitive and adventurous; and Robb honorable and careful. No, Tommen still believed in songs and dreams, just as Sansa had before she had come here and lost everything. She could not help but worry that Tywin would take those things away from Tommen too in an attempt to make him stronger and less gentle. Perhaps a kind touch was what the kingdom needed, after all that it had gone through with the war.

All these things rested on Catelyn’s mind as she traveled to the room that Tywin had told her about. She tried to think about those things instead of what lied in the room. It was strange to think that Tywin was giving her a surprise. After all, that was what it was in the end. He wouldn’t exactly say that he wanted to surprise her or give her something – that wasn’t how he worked – so he turned it into an order. Over the past few months, she had grown very used to reading in between the lines when it came to Tywin Lannister, to the point where she was even beginning to see him in a new light, however begrudging it was. The man was ruthless, but there was something about him, something underneath all the cunning, somewhere hidden behind his coldness… Just something that she couldn’t put a finger on.

When she finally reached the room, she knocked on the door, but no one responded. Twisting the handle, she found the door unlocked and pushed it open, only to reveal that there was no one in it. Curious, she stepped inside and looked around. There was nothing spectacular about this room. It had a few decorations, a lounge chair, a painting that seemed forgotten. The Red Keep was large and had so many rooms in it that seemed pointless. It looked as if no one had been in this room for ages, much less actually used it. There wasn’t even a window in here, just four stone walls and a door. She walked over to the painting, running a finger along its frame, and found it covered in dust. What had been the point of coming here?

The door open behind her; and Catelyn turned around to face it, wringing her hands tightly in front of her. The first person she saw was a gold cloak that she didn’t recognize, so she bit her lip and said nothing to him. The second person was Ser Broderick, who poked his head in with a cheerful smile on her face. She felt herself relax and let out a breath she hadn’t even known that she was holding. “Lady Catelyn,” he said, stepping inside and more or less pushing the other gold cloak out of the way. The man looked affronted, but seeing as how Catelyn walked to them and smiled fondly at Broderick, he said nothing.

“What’s going on?” she asked him. He would tell her the truth; he would be honest with her. Even when he wasn’t supposed to tell her things, she always managed to needle them out of him. It was a wonder why Tywin kept him around since Broderick couldn’t keep anything from her.

Even now, he seemed like he wasn’t supposed to say anything, squirming under her gaze, but the smile never left his face. “Lord Tywin thought best if the meeting took place outside of the Tower of the Hand, away from…” He glanced at the guard next to him. “What did he call them?” He looked quickly back to Catelyn. “‘Nosy birds,’ I think he said.”

“Meeting?” Catelyn furrowed her brow, feeling suspicious and uneasy. Tywin had told her to come here for a meeting. But what kind of meeting? At this time, he would probably be with the new Master of Coin, going over details about a new tax being proposed, so it wouldn’t involve him. Unless that meeting was tomorrow or it had just been a lie that he’d concocted up. Besides, what meeting would involve her? She wasn’t involved in the court, not when it came to anything political or official; she was just stuck with the ladies of the court and they never did anything serious or important. “Ser Broderick, do you know what it’s about?”

In a way, Broderick looked much like a child now, seemingly unable to stand still. “I think it best you find out for yourself.” He stepped outside of the room for a moment, but when he came back in, he wasn’t alone.

Standing next to him, his hands still bound together, was Edmure.

Edmure’s downcast blue eyes lit up immediately upon seeing her. “Cat!”

Catelyn could not hold back a cry of “Edmure!” as she threw her arms around her younger brother, squeezing him tighter than she’d ever hugged him before. She could tell that he wanted to hold her too, but he could not. For a just a moment, she stepped back and looked at the gold cloaks in the room. “His hands need to be unbound.” Broderick and the two other gold cloaks looked at each other. “Please.”

Broderick pulled out the keys. “If he somehow escapes from this room, we’ll deserve to have our head on spikes.” The other two muttered in agreement; and Broderick stepped forward and unlocked the shackles on Edmure’s wrists. He smiled weakly, rubbing at his wrists. Broderick nodded to her and then he and the other gold cloaks left the room, locking it behind them, so that only Edmure and Catelyn were in the room.

Reaching out to him, Catelyn put her hands on his scruffy cheeks. He’d either grown a beard or hadn’t been allowed to shave in a while; it looked more like the latter because it was growing in patches and needed trimming. She gave him a careful look over, noting how his beard was hiding a sunken in face, as if he wasn’t getting enough to eat. His clothes were nice, red with blue trimming, nothing to suggest Tully except for the colors, but she could tell that he was thin underneath them as well. More than anything, he looked exhausted and nothing like the sweet, cheerful young man he’d been the last time she’d seen him.

Gods, the last time she’d seen him had been at the Twins, at his wedding…

“They wouldn’t allow me to see you,” she said quietly, her bottom lip quivering despite herself.

Edmure wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, and pressed his face into her hair. “I asked of you. They wouldn’t let me see you either. I tried, but I… They were cruel. They told me you were dead; and I…I didn’t know what to believe.” He sounded so pained, so miserable. How long had he thought her dead? She had known right away that he was still alive, being held hostage, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about it.

She was older than him and she had taken care of them as a mother would when he’d been a child, but he was taller than her now, a man grown; and yet she could feel hot tears spilling into her hair. They came to her as well; and she held him close, remembering what it felt like to not be alone. He still smelled like Edmure too, even if he looked older than ever before. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but think that she was much more well off than he was. In terms of status, she was above him. He was no longer the Lord of Riverrun, but she was the Lady of Casterly Rock.

(She was the Lady of where he was being held prisoner.)

Slowly, they both pulled back, so they could properly look at each other. Catelyn never wanted to let go of him. She knew that he would be sent away again; she knew that there was a strong possibility this might be the last time she ever saw him. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to him, a million things she needed to ask him, but she couldn’t find the words. All she could think was, _He looks so defeated_. And he did. His shoulders were slumped; there was such a tired look about him; and even his smile, though true, was so faint.

Edmure gulped down a lump in his throat. “You look…” His eyes raked over her; and she saw tears in them. She knew that he would not cry for her to see, at least until he was out of sight and alone, but seeing them hurt her nonetheless. “You look well, Cat.” His voice broke when he said her name, like he couldn’t believe just how well she was doing. Seeing him here, now, made her realize just how well off she was. Yes, she was a prisoner like him, in her own way, but unlike him, she was held to a high regard, she could never want for anything materialistic, she was cared for. What did he have?

Catelyn suddenly felt horribly and incredibly ashamed.

“Perhaps I can speak with someone and you can stay here for a while,” she told him, clinging to his hands. She could feel him pulling away from her, so she hold onto him tighter. He stopped moving, never looking away from her. The sad look he gave her made her want to flinch away as well, but she did not; she just kept looking back at him, almost pleadingly. _Forgive me, brother,_ she wanted to say, though she couldn’t say why. Everything that she’d done in the past months came rushing back to her; and she hated every second of it. “You’d get better care here.”

 _Did I forget who I was?_ she thought wildly. _Did I forget my family, my honor, my duty?_

Try as he might, his smile did not grow any stronger. “Are you saying that I look unwell after I paid you a compliment?” The joke fell flat at their feet, but both of them ignored it.

“I’m saying that I missed you,” she said quietly.

_I’m asking for your forgiveness for being happy._

When had she become happy? When had the pain slowly started to recede? She still felt stabbings of guilt and grief, but they came less often, though they were still overwhelming at times. But when had she started to smile for true?

“I can’t stay here,” Edmure replied, frowning and looking to the ground. “They won’t let me and I…I have no place in King’s Landing–”

“You do,” Catelyn insisted, “with me.”

“–but I do have a place at Casterly Rock still,” he finished. Catelyn couldn’t help the puzzled and hurt look that came upon her face. Her grip on his hands lessened just slightly. Edmure glanced at her belly and then her face. “Roslin is with child.”

“Roslin?” Catelyn blinked. “Your Frey wife?”

This time, when Edmure smiled, she saw a flicker of happiness in it. “They took her as a captive to Casterly Rock too, I suppose in hopes that it would keep Lord Walder Frey in line.” His eyes went down to her swelling belly again and stayed there this time. “She will give birth soon. She’s scared that it will be a boy and the Lannisters will kill him. She’s scared that they will kill me and her child won’t have a father. She’s _scared_ , Cat; and I cannot leave her to herself like that.”

Her little brother was going to have a child. They would have children that would be the same age. The idea of her child and his child growing up together, playing together, fighting together – it gave her more hope than she could ever dare to have. So many times, she was scared that her child would grow up in this world alone – King’s Landing was not a place that bred deep friendships and love – but she could dream of maybe Edmure’s child being fostered here or her child being fostered at Casterly Rock. They were going to give Edmure a bit of land and a little castle to make his own. It could work. He would still be a highborn. He was still her brother. It would… It had to happen.

“You will be a good father.”

Edmure laughed mirthlessly and pulled away from her. “How can you say that? I cannot give my child a proper life. He or she will be born a prisoner or will have their life snuffed out before they can live it. I am no better than a common peasant at this point. I might as well be having a bastard.”

Catelyn felt weak and foolish and she reached out for him again. “Edmure, please–”

“No!” He jerked his hand back and stepped away from her. “I am nothing now. I look at Roslin and I feel guilty for what I’ve put her through. She is a good woman, Catelyn. I know you may think ill of her, but she wanted no part of the…of anything.” His blue eyes were filled with a pain that she was all too familiar with. It reminded her of what he’d looked like after their father’s death; and she did not know how to comfort him. He always grew distant with her in his grief. He always did, even as a very little boy when their mother died. “She deserves more than this. My child deserves more than this. I have failed them both. How can you say that I will be a good father when I have nothing to give them?”

“Because you are a good man, Edmure,” she told him, putting a hand on his arm. He flinched, but did not pull away this time. That gave her small comfort. He was mad at her – or rather, not at her, but the hopelessness of the situation. She knew that feeling all too well. She thought back to when she had gone to Tywin’s chambers and he had told her of his plan to marry her. “Because you are kinder and truer than any man I know.” She smiled at him. “Do you remember when I first came back to Riverrun? You had commoners staying inside the castle walls to protect them, even though we did not have the resources.” He bit his lip. “I thought to myself, _My little brother is so foolish,_ but my little brother also has a stronger heart than I.”

“Little brother…” He closed his eyes and let her pull him closer to her.

“Family always comes first,” she whispered as she hugged him again. He was limp in her arms at first, like he didn’t know what to do with himself and didn’t have the energy to try, but slowly he returned the hug, becoming fiercer as the seconds ticked by. The hug reminded her of their uncle, the Blackfish, who would hug her as fiercely as he could in front of everyone. He never once cared what people thought of him whereas Edmure had always been nervous about what people said about him.

When he pulled away again, Edmure wiped at his eyes somewhat nervously. “When I heard that you were marrying Tywin Lannister, I grew…” It was like he couldn’t find the words for his feelings. She knew what that was like as well. There was no easy way to gauge how she had felt. “I became very wroth and despondent at the same time – and confused. I did not understand why…”

“Truth be told, I did not have much say in the matter,” Catelyn pointed out.

Edmure shook his head. “I didn’t think so… But then rebellions grew smaller in the Riverlands and even the North. People just…gave up. I suppose I understand now why you did not fight.” When his eyes flickered to hers, there was a sheepish look about them. “I read the letters that were sent out to all of Westeros – your letters that Lord Tywin had you write before the wedding.”

At this, Catelyn turned a little pink and felt a prickling of guilt. “How false did they sound? You know that I am not talented at lying.”

“I thought they rang true,” Edmure told her. Catelyn did not know how to take this. Her face softened as she looked at him as he continued, “Well, I mean, not true – but… They sounded like your words and not Lord Tywin’s.” A more confused look came over her. “I mean – no, they were his words, yes, but… Catelyn, you have always been a woman of peace. You did not war. You fought against it from the moment it began. Even when the Lannisters took away from you, all you wanted was for the fighting to cease.” He looked away from her. “We ought to have listened to you, but it was summer and we were drunk from our own glories and follies.”

He had grown, her little brother, aged years and years beyond his actual age. She saw in him the person she had been months ago, locked away in an unknown chamber with food sitting untouched on the table by the window. Her heart ached almost more than she could bear and part of her wanted him to leave so that she could mourn again. She had never been good at mourning in front of others. When their mother had died, she’d locked herself in her room to cry alone; after the funeral, she’d ran out of the castle and gone to the river, wading into the shallow water in her gown, and stared off into the distance as she cried for the last time over her mother. _The Tullys draw their strength from the river,_ she remembered, just as she had as a girl, but she hadn’t gotten a surge of strength then and there were no rivers here now.

“How is your…? I mean, how are you doing?” Edmure seemed suddenly uncomfortable. She could see the way he struggled for the appropriate words, as if afraid that he would upset her or say something unkind. This was how she knew that he would be a good father, how she knew without a doubt that he was a good person. Even in light of everything that had happened, even though she had seemingly given up and resigned to her marriage with the enemy, he could not be mad at her, not truly. She loved him for it more than anything. “Lord Tywin, he is… Is he treating you well?”

The question itself was loaded. When he looked at her though, she saw the begging in his eyes. She saw what he truly meant: he could not bear the idea of his sister being treated badly on a daily basis. He could not stand the idea of his sister being married to a monster.

All of a sudden, she was thirteen again and Edmure was four, holding her hand tightly as Brandon Stark was riding up to Riverrun for the first time; and Edmure tugged her down to say in her ear, _“I won’t let him marry you if he’s mean. I won’t let him. He has to be nice to you, Cat. I won’t let any boy be mean to you.”_

It broke her heart.

“Lord Tywin is…”

And Catelyn did not know what to say.

In fact, she had no words to describe her husband. How do you describe a man like Tywin Lannister? He was the enemy; he was her husband; he was the plotter of her son’s murder; he was her confidant. He was ruthless and brilliant and cold and gentle and hard and… And so much more. She hated him – yes, seeing Edmure now, she hated him – but then if it wasn’t for him, she would not be in the same room as her brother again. She had no doubt in her mind that it had been Tywin’s doing that had brought Edmure here to her. She had been distant and despondent since Tommen’s name day celebration. Perhaps he worried over the unborn child’s well-being if she continued being depressed. She wasn’t sure. His sporadic acts of kindness were done with military precision, to the point where no matter how random they were, they felt planned to her and yet also honest.

How could she possibly put all of this into words for Edmure when she could not even fathom them herself?

“He is good to me,” Catelyn finally settled on, knowing full well how inadequate the words were.

“Good to you?” Edmure repeated. Maybe inadequate was a bad word – more like unbelievable. “Think of whom you are speaking of, Cat.”

“I _am_ ,” she insisted, her voice pained and patient. When her brother just gawked at her, she sighed, her hand fluttering to her belly absentmindedly. “It is hard to explain, Edmure, believe me. When he forced my hand in this marriage, it was cold and calculated. I could not have hated him more – and I do, I…I do hate him. There are just times when it is easier to forget.” She gripped the material of her dress, her thoughts heavy on the child. What would their child look like? A child born of winter, a Southern child, yet filled with the sense of the North. “It sounds absurd and silly, but I have seen a side of him that others have not. While others have mocked and talked about me behind my back, since our marriage, he has only ever treated me with the utmost respect.”

“Respect? He did not marry you out of the goodness of his heart. Did he respect you when it came time for the bedding?”

“Edmure!” Catelyn felt a flash of hurt, like he’d stabbed her. He seemed to know it too, but he did not apologize for it. “Things are… _complicated_.”

He shook his head at her. “You’ve been here too long. You are letting yourself get fooled by your own play. You’ve pretended to be happy for so long that you’re starting to believe it yourself.” As hard as it was to hear him say things like this, Catelyn could not help but silently agree. Far too often she had wondered if perhaps her little bit of happiness was a lie. She’d faked her smiles and laughs for so long that it was almost becoming easy to think that some of them were real. (And maybe they truly were.) “I wish I could take you away from here.”

This time, Catelyn was the one to laugh. “And where would we go? Riverrun belongs to the Freys now. Would I trade my prison here for a prison at Casterly Rock?”

“No, you don’t want to leave here, do you? You get to wear pretty dresses and eat all the lemon cakes you want and sleep in a comfy bed with the most powerful man in Westeros. This isn’t a prison for you, Catelyn; it’s your new home.”

As soon as he said the words, she could tell that he wanted to take them back. Edmure shut his mouth abruptly and just looked at her, a mixture of horror and shame in his eyes. The pain that Catelyn felt was all too real and sudden. Try as she might hide it, the tears sprung to her eyes almost immediately and she stepped back from him, her body shaking under the weight of the guilt that she felt. (Because he was right. This was more like a home to her now. It wasn’t so much of a prison any longer, though she felt the bars and shackles every now and then still. But the fact that he would just throw that into her face….)

“Cat,” Edmure began pleadingly, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean that… I know this hurts. I know… I know you are a prisoner, just a different kind… I…”

Stepping away from him more, Catelyn reached back with her free hand until she found the arm of the chair. Feeling more faint than ever before, she slowly collapsed into the chair, her legs trembling. Her eyes were somewhere else, locked on a random stone in the wall; and she felt like she was folding in on herself, as she had done during the ride to King’s Landing from the Twins. She felt lost in that distant fog that hadn’t been around since her wedding to Tywin. Edmure was saying something, anything, begging her to come back to him, but she couldn’t hear him, could only see him opening his mouth out of the corner of her eyes.

It was only when Edmure was in front of her, on his eyes, one hand on an armrest and the other gripping her hand on her belly, did she hear him say the words, “He is all you have now. I should understand that since all I have is Roslin.”

But Edmure loved Roslin. She could hear it in his voice and see it in his face when he talked of her. She did not know how it was possible or what had come about during the time both of them had been held captive since the Red Wedding, but they had grown to love each other. They were going to have a child together; and Edmure was scared and Roslin was scared and all they had were each other.

And what did she have? She lived far more comfortably than Edmure did. But did Tywin love her? No, she could not fool herself into believing that. He had married her because it was the politically proper and best strategic move to do? She was nothing more than a pawn to him, a prop to get a new heir on. When he was done with his use of her – and he would be, all too soon, if their child was a boy – then she would no longer be of any use to him. He might throw her out or send her away to Casterly Rock to be forgotten and left to rust and turn to dust, along with her grief and misery.

“Edmure, I…” Catelyn felt herself tearing up again. She didn’t want to, but she could not stop it.

( _“I won’t let any boy be mean to you,”_ her little brother had promised on a fine summer day three lifetimes ago. _“I’m your brother; and Father says that brothers are supposed to protect their sisters. You don’t have to be scared ever.”_ )

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she told him. “I’m _scared_.”

For the child, for her brother, for herself, for everything.

Edmure reached up and put his hands on her face where tears had begun to fall down in streaks. “You need not be scared. You’ve got me.”

And she had Tywin. He had harmed her so much – and yet he had protected her as well. Whenever anyone said anything against her, he always acted as her shield. No one said anything anymore, except for Cersei, but that was to be expected. People may have said things behind her back, but she was only treated respectfully to her face. She was the wife of the Hand of the King now. When she stepped out into the public eye, Tywin was at her side; and sometimes he would hold her hand and squeeze it just once, like a reminder that he was there and she never needed to worry again. She wanted so badly to be able to convey this to Edmure, to convince him of something she wasn’t even entirely sure of herself, but she didn’t know how.

The door opened in that moment; and Lord Tywin stepped into the room. Edmure went to pull away, maybe even bow thought he was already on his knees, but Catelyn gripped him tightly and kept him in place. She could feel his nervousness in the way his hands began to shake and how his face grew pale in a matter of seconds. He became the little brother she felt the need to protect right before her eyes, no longer the one comforting her.

 _He is afraid of Tywin,_ Catelyn thought, feeling a little stunned to realize that she did not, at least not anymore. When had that happened?

“My lord,” Edmure greeted in little more than a mumble, his eyes downcast. He seemed intent on not looking the other man in the face. Catelyn could not help but frown at that. Even at her worst, she had never once looked away from him. Even during their wedding, she had looked him in the eyes, determined to show him that she would not be cowed. When Tywin turned his green eyes to her brother, she felt a pang in her heart when she realized that Tywin would not have to return the comment, as Edmure was no longer a lord since Riverrun had been taken from him.

 _From us, they took Riverrun from_ us _._

“Is it time for me to be returned to Casterly Rock?” Edmure asked, still looking at the ground.

Tywin did not say anything. He merely nodded his head and two guards stepped into the room behind him.

“My lord, please,” Catelyn said suddenly, pushing Edmure’s hands away from her and standing up. She stood up too quickly though and nearly fell back into the chair. Tywin took a small step forward, reaching out for her, but it was Edmure that caught her, grabbing her by the elbow and holding her up, even though he was in an awkward position. “Thank you, Edmure.” He nodded his head, looking her in the eyes. They had the same light blue eyes, but his were filled with fear and it cut her like a knife. She walked to Tywin, slipping out of Edmure’s grip. “Must he leave tonight? Could he stay here, just for a week? There are plenty of rooms he could stay in; I’m sure Ser Broderick would not mind standing guard though I can assure you that he wouldn’t try to escape.”

“Not while we have his wife and unborn child,” Tywin pointed out.

Catelyn narrowed her eyes. “That is cruel to suggest.”

“It is the truth.”

For a second, she wanted to slap him. Truth be told, she had not wanted to slap him for a long time. It felt somewhat strange to feel the urge again, but she swallowed it down. “Please, my lord, I have not seen my brother in months and the last time I saw him I thought it would be _the_ last time. An hour with my brother is not enough.”

“He needs to be returned–”

“He needs to be with me,” Catelyn interrupted fiercely. “A week, my lord, just give me one week for the months that I have been robbed of him. He is… He is all I have left.”

Tywin fixed her with a look that was almost cold. He hadn’t looked at her like that since…since he’d told her that she was to marry him. It surprisingly hurt her more than expected. She couldn’t understand why he was acting like this with her now when he hadn’t for so long. Was it because Edmure was here? “And what will he do while here? Will he traipse about the Red Keep with you? Will he visit King’s Landing? He is a prisoner, not a guest.”

“He is my _brother_! Am I your prisoner too?”

And then the room went silent. Catelyn felt her body shaking with anger, but perhaps, maybe there was finally a bit of fear in her as well. She had stood up to Tywin before, but it had always been in private. They never once argued in public; and if she ever felt cross with him, she kept it to herself until they were alone in their bedchambers. This time around though, there were three other people in the room. She knew before she even began that it wasn’t her place to argue with him, but this was her baby brother and she missed him and she needed him and she had never felt more alone than when Tywin had come to take him away from her again.

“Please, Tywin,” she said quietly, knowing quite well that she would suffer the consequences, “it will lift so much weight from my shoulders to just spend time with him for one week. I’ll never ask anything of you again.”

Tywin did not look away from her as he said, “Take the prisoner back to his room. I need to speak with my wife alone.”

Edmure jumped to his feet clumsily as the guards moved towards him. “My lord, I’ll go back to Casterly Rock,” he said hastily. When one guard reached for him, he feinted to the right and then took step steps closer to Tywin. “My sister is weary from the pregnancy. I-I asked if I could stay here for a week, as I worry for her, but–” The guards finally got a hold of him. Still he struggled as they put him back in chains. For someone that had so much fear in his voice, he was acting quite difficult. “Please, my lord, I won’t fight going back.”

Catelyn suddenly realized what he was doing: he was trying to protect her, as brothers should their sisters. He was taking the blame for her outburst, no matter how absurd it was, so that Tywin would not punish her. He was scared for her, not for himself. She wanted to take his hand and reassure him, but she could not move from her spot, not with Tywin fixing her with such a hard gaze.

“Take him,” was all that Tywin said.

“Catelyn–”

She held up a hand. “I’ll be fine, Edmure.”

The look of uncertainty on his face was the last thing she saw before the door shut on him, leaving Catelyn and Tywin in the room alone. She knew that she should be concerned, perhaps even afraid, but she was angry and tired as well. It felt far too cruel to see her brother, only to have him taken away from her so quickly. Their time together had been far too short. She had so much more to say, so much more to ask him. Her heart only seemed to ache even more now that she had seen him. A part of her wished that she hadn’t, so then the memory of what she was missing wouldn’t sting quite so sharply.

“I cannot believe you would speak so disrespectfully to me in front of others,” Tywin finally said, breaking the icy silence that had fallen between them. She said nothing. Instead, she looked him in the face, determined to not look away, no matter how much she wanted to do so. “I tolerate it when we are alone because I want you to be honest and open with me, but in front of guards? In front of prisoners?”

“Stop calling him that,” Catelyn snapped.

“That is what he is, Catelyn; and you must accept that,” Tywin told her.

“You don’t call me a prisoner.”

“Do you feel like one?”

She bit her lip. No, she didn’t, not anymore. In the beginning she had, locked away in her room, always guarded, but now she had free reign of the castle, of the city even. She could travel wherever she wanted to here and speak with anyone she wanted. Of course she had to watch what she said, but that was the price of living in the Red Keep. Everyone had to watch what they said here.

“If you speak like that to me one more time in front of others, I’ll–”

“You’ll what, Tywin? Honestly, what else could you possibly do?” The anger dissipated from her voice almost instantaneously. She knew that she should be furious with him, but instead she was just suddenly so very tired. Her back ached, her feet hurt. Her mind was spinning and all she wanted to do was lay down and cry if she could not see her brother again. “Will you lock me up again? Forbid me to see others? Will you hurt my brother?” She could tell that he saw the flaw in his words, but he would not admit to them. “What could you possibly do to me that you have not already done?”

Tywin put a hand on her arm, which startled her more than anything. “I did not mean for this to hurt you.”

“A week is all I ask,” Catelyn said again. She knew that she was begging and she hated it, but she did not think she could bear to part with Edmure on this note. It would only break her heart further. “I won’t speak to you like that ever again, I swear.”

“At least not in front of other people,” Tywin replied, kissing her on the forehead gently. “No one is nearly as honest with me as you are; and honesty is the one thing that this place both lacks and what I need.”


	13. The Nightmare

She dreamed of fire that night. Fire and blood and wolves howling in the night. She dreamed of laughter and someone splashing in the water, from somewhere behind the fire that surrounded her. It had been months since she’d had a dream like this, months since she’d really dreamed at all. For the first two months of her stay in King’s Landing, she’d taken to dreamwine almost every night to drown out the nightmares; and eventually, she’d mostly stopped dreaming altogether even without the help of the concoction.

Tonight, though, the dreams came back with a roaring vengeance.

She was running through the corridors of the Red Keep, running, running, running, and alone, the skirts of her night grown and robe whipping at her ankles. Her bare feet smacked on the floor, the stone too warm. The flames were behind her, around her, before her. She couldn’t escape them. There were no tears in her eyes, no panic on her face, just an urgency coursing through her mind, telling her that she had to get somewhere, she had to find someone. The hallway was coming to an end and there were three doors. She had to choose the right one. She had to escape.

The first door right in front of her jumped out at her; and she reached for the handle, which was slick and hot. She fumbled for a moment and then jerked the door open.

And when she opened her mouth to scream at the sight before her, the cry did not come.

Robb – her boy. She knew it was him, despite the wolf head that had been sewn onto his neck. She would recognize Robb through Grey Wind. His crown, which had seemed to weigh so heavily upon him, lie crooked on the wolf’s head. He wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d died in, but the clothes he’d worn in Winterfell, and yet they were still covered in blood. His blood, Grey Wind’s blood, the blood of the Kings of Winter, his father’s blood. He reached out for her, one bloody hand shakily hanging in the air, and though the wolf did not open its mouth, she knew the howling had come from him and she heard the words. _“Mother, Mother, how could you betray me like this? How could you marry the man that murdered me? Do you not know that is treason to your own soul and the children you bore to love a monster like him?”_

She backed away, hands curling at her mouth, and shook her head. “Robb, you must understand…” she begged, her whole body trembling. “You must understand that I had to do this. I had to…to protect the family that I have left. Robb, my son…”

_“Did you have to love him?”_

“I don’t… I don’t… Please, Robb, you must understand me.”

_“How can I understand? I am dead and the dead have no need to understand the living.”_

The door closed on her and the fires licked at her heels, telling her that she had to choose another door. For a moment, she didn’t want to though. She wanted to let the flames consume her, to die, to be with her family again. The ache in her belly was too much to bear and she wanted it gone. It throbbed and stung and only grew stronger with each passing second. Still, she carried on, turning to her right, and the door opened the second her fingertips touched the handle.

It was Rivverrun. She was back in Riverrun, back home. Of course it made no sense, but she didn’t care. It was sunny and bright and filled with greens and blues and reds. The gentle breeze of the air flew over her, fingering through her hair. There was the sound of splashing again and she saw the river that she played in as a child. And – yes, there, children in the river. _She_ was in the river. Not only her, but Lysa and Petyr and Edmure were there as well. He was so small back then. She smiled despite herself. He had always been wary of the river, teetering on the edge, holding his arms out to her.

“I’m here, Edmure,” she – the child version of her – called, wading back to the edge. She picked up her little brother and carried him into the river with her, sinking down so that he was in the cold water as well. He wiggled at first and they all laughed, but then he laughed too and smacked the water with the flats of his hands. Lysa began to splash Petyr and he lunged at her, making her squeal in delight and mock-fear.

She could not help but stare at her child self and Edmure. The two of them kept away from the splashing and play fighting of Lysa and Petyr, instead choosing to watch. Edmure quieted as he watched the two and then looked up at her. He had such a shy smile on his face. _“Mum,”_ he said to her, burying his face into her neck, his wet, red hair most likely tickling her chin. She didn’t correct him. The ache in her chest swelled to a new level; and just as the child version of her could feel it in the river, the adult version of her could feel it in the castle.

This was not her world anymore.

She pushed the door shut, slumping against it. The fire was everywhere now. It had already taken over the first door she’d looked through. It inched towards the one she was at now. The smoke was everywhere, clogging her nose and mouth. She walked to the last door that was directly across from her. It had to be the right one this time. It was the last one. She was so tired though. Smoke seemed to fill her every step, making her hazy and in a daze. She grasped onto the handle, holding herself up, and pressed her forehead against the hot wood. Part of her felt like she didn’t even have the will to open the door. What did she have now? What did she have left?

But then she twisted the knob and pulled the door open, because she knew in her heart that she would never be one to just lie down.

Instead, she dropped to her knees.

There was Tywin standing before her, wearing his red and gold armor that bore the lions of House Lannister. (It was strange because she’d never seen him in his armor before, only once in a painting that she’d teased him about and he’d rolled his eyes and) He looked spectacular, splendid, and terrifying all at once. She imagined it was a sight that rattled many a man’s cage. This was a man that spoke of power when he walked, when he spoke, when he looked at you. His back was turned to her though.

“Tywin,” she breathed, barely breathed, the fire around her, the heat swallowing her, the smoke closing her throat.

When he turned to face her, she let out an audible gasp, even though it meant sucking in more smoke.

Tywin wasn’t alone. He was holding a child, a baby, an innocent. The babe was in a blanket and wailing loudly, pleading. She knew pleading when she heard it. ( _“My first son, my last son,”_ ) Her hands were splayed out on the stone floor, but they still shook. Tywin examined the baby carefully, tilting his head to one side, void of anything. His green eyes showed nothing. No concern, no fondness, no hate, no sadness. Just nothing.

 _“You failed me,”_ he said to her, still not looking at her. She shook her head mutely, tears springing to her eyes. _“You had to do but one thing. And you failed me. I don’t accept failure. What am I supposed to do with it?”_

“Please, Tywin, I…I didn’t fail you, I could never, I did not…” Always with the pleading. She hated it. She hated it more than anything. It made her want to wretch in disgust. How had she turned to this? She had always been strong, always. When she’d heard about her betrothal, when Brandon had died, when she’d married a stranger in his stead, when she’d miscarried for the first time, when Bran fell, when Ned and the girls left, when everything began to fall apart and she forgot what life was. She had been _strong_.

 _“I kept a failure once and it was my near ruin,”_ he said. _“I won’t make that mistake again.”_

He held the baby in the air in one hand, its cry bouncing off the walls. The heat of the flames itched at her back. The blanket fell from the baby, and she saw what it was, a girl, a beautiful baby girl with a tuff of strawberry blond hair and the greenest eyes. The gleam of light that bounced off the silver caught her eyes before the dagger in Tywin’s hands.

“No!” she screamed, her hands clutching her belly.

That was when she noticed something was wrong. Something felt wrong. Off. Different. She looked down and pulled her hands away from her stomach, only to find that her hands were covered in blood. She choked on a breath. Pulled her robe back. There was blood all over the front of her gown. And then she felt her stomach again. Her small stomach, almost flat, empty, filled with nothing just like Tywin’s green eyes. She jerked her head up and tried to get to her feet, but the floor was slick with her blood, everyone’s blood, and she slipped, her knee and hands banging the ground painfully. A cry came out, whether from the child or herself, she wasn’t quite sure. And the silver of the dagger in Tywin’s hand gleamed again menacingly as he brought it down to the baby–

“Catelyn! Catelyn, calm down! _Catelyn_!”

“No! Stop it! PLEASE, STOP!”

“Catelyn, listen to me, it is just a dream! Listen to me!”

Her eyes shot open as pain ripped through her. Catelyn sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the freshness of the air after the smoke in her dreams, and held back another cry that had formed in the back of her throat. Green eyes hovered in front of her, filled with something that looked like alarm. She could feel a hand on one of her arms and another on her belly. She moaned, leaning her head back against the pillow, and pressed her hand overtop the one of her belly.

Still swollen, still there. The child was still inside her, with her.

She would’ve begun to cry in relief if another sharp pain had seized her, making her realize that that hadn’t been a part of her dream. Her whole body tensed in that moment and she looked at the man next to her. She saw that dark look come over his face as he recognized the panic on hers.

“No,” he said, “it’s too early.”

Despite herself, she let out a sharp cry when the pain hit her again. “Tywin–”

(If she had thought that she had been afraid during the nightmare, after the nightmare, she had been wrong. Dead wrong.)

Tywin was up and out of the bed in a second. She whimpered, reaching out for him with one hand, holding her belly with the other. Why had he left her? She needed him here, at her side. (When she’d miscarried after Robb, Ned had been with her the entire time, much to her shame, but she had learned that it had been exactly what she’d needed. Him clumsily holding her hand as she tried not to cry, smoothing down her hair, pressing a kiss to her sweaty, hot forehead. She’d thought that she’d wanted to be alone, but the truth was that being alone would have smothered her.) She could hear Tywin yelling something, his voice muffled by the door.

And then he was sitting on the bed with her. His hand found hers. It had been a while since he’d held her hand. They did so in public sometimes, if only because it was deemed necessary for the public eyes by Tywin, but never actually out of fondness or care, at least not that she thought. “I told a gold cloak to get Maester Pycelle,” he told her.

A hollow laugh escaped Catelyn. “That old man?” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing I–” Pain shot through her again, interrupting her as pain is ought to do. “A good thing I’m not in a hurry or need immediate attention. He’s like to get here in the next” – shaky breathing – “next century.” She tried to gulp down a knot in her throat and closed her eyes.

“Keep your eyes open,” his voice told her.

“I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

“Catelyn, look at me.”

She opened her eyes. He was staring down at her. Even in the door, she could see how green his eyes were. _I am scared,_ she realized and wanted to say, but she held the words in her mouth. She didn’t want to admit fear to him, even if she felt it tingling in her body.

“Tell me what you dreamed about.”

At first, she shook her head, but then she caught the look on his face and stopped. “Fire,” she whispered, “it was everywhere – in the Red Keep. I was running alone, trying to escape, and I couldn’t. There were…doors…to open. The first one, I heard howling behind it, and…” She grunted in pain again, trying not to cry out, holding it in. Her whole body pitched forward slightly. “Robb – his direwolf sewed onto his head. He was…upset.” She bit her lip, hard enough to make it bleed. “The second door was – it was Riverrun, a silly memory from my childhood, playing in the river with my brother and sister and Petyr…” The tears spilled out unwillingly now. She didn’t want to go on any further. But the pain from the nightmare distracted her from the pain in her body. “You were behind the third door. You were holding a baby, our baby–” A strangled sob managed its way out of her. “You were going to kill our baby because it was a girl, because I failed, and I-I was covered in blood and– Oh, gods, Tywin, I don’t want to lose this child. I think I’ll go mad if I do.”

“We are not losing our child,” Tywin told her, fiercely, protectively, angrily. But not angry at her – more like angry with the gods. (She remembered Jaime telling her about how his father had been angry at the gods for taking away Joanna from him.)

“My lord?” an elderly man’s voice called from the door.

Tywin pulled away from her, and she fumbled over her words to ask him to come back, please, Tywin, and she closed her eyes. She felt more hands on her, cold skin against her hot skin, more voices surrounding her, calling for her to open her eyes, but gods, she was tired. Gods, she was just done. Something about stress-induced labor.

“I want Edmure,” she mumbled into the dark. “I want…”

And then darkness.


	14. The Scare

Gold. Cream. Red. Swirls of colors. Blurry colors.

No, they were walls, not just colors. No, not walls, ceiling – she was looking at the ceiling, painted gold and a cream color, red curtains in her view. She blinked, her vision coming in clearer, and she realized that she recognized the ceiling. And the curtains – her eyes went downcast and she saw the curtains hanging on the golden bedposts.

She was still in her bedroom in the Tower of the Hand.

“Tywin?” Her voice sounded like sandpaper to her own ears, her throat raw and dry.

“Cat, it’s me,” a male voice said, a face swimming into view. “It’s your brother.”

Edmure hovered above her, slipping a warm hand into hers and smoothing her hair down with his other hand. There was so much concern in his blue eyes. He had dark rings under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for days.

Catelyn smiled tiredly. “It seems as if our positions have been switched.”

“Well, I’m your brother,” Edmure replied, smiling despite himself in return. “It’s about time I took care of you instead of you always taking care of me. I have slacked on my duties terribly.”

“You’re my baby brother,” Catelyn told him. “I’m always going to take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby anymore though,” Edmure said with a laugh. When he stopped laughing, he just looked at her; and she could see the relief written all over his face. “Don’t scare me like that, okay? I…I don’t think I could handle losing you as well.”

Suddenly, the events of what she last remembered came rushing back to her and her heart started to race wildly. Her throat closed up and her lungs seemed to seize in her chest. Immediately she tried to sit up. Edmure tried to ease her back into lying down, but she pushed his hands away from her and she sat up, throwing the thick blanket away from her.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “My baby–”

“Is alive and well, still kicking in you,” Edmure finished.

Catelyn lifted her hands to her face, pressing her palms against herself, as if she could hold everything in. When she had thought that she was losing the baby, she’d remembered what it had felt like to lose Robb, to lose all her children. Losing another one that hadn’t even had the opportunity to live would have devastated her. She hadn’t been sure that she could survive it. She had forgotten what true helplessness felt like; living in King’s Landing, with Tywin, had gotten too comfortable. That night was like a strike from the gods, punishment for growing too comfortable with her situation, reminding her of what pain she should have felt.

“Edmure, I–” But she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t do anything. For a moment, she looked past her brother and she saw her husband standing in the doorway, looking pristine and clean cut as he always did. Her eyes locked onto him. Edmure noticed and glanced back. He still visibly blanched at the sight of Tywin and shrunk away from her, back into the chair.

“I require a moment with my wife.”

Immediately, Edmure got out of the chair, but it looked like he didn’t even stand up. “Yes, my lord.” His shoulders were hunched, his knees bent, and he slunk out of the room hastily, casting a quick glance back at her before ducking out of the room where guards surely awaited him. She wanted to call him back, but she wanted to be alone with Tywin as well. Things needed to be said, explained, aired out. A lump sat in her throat as she watched him shut the door and then slowly walk towards her, his boots thudding on the floor with each step. He kept his eyes on her the whole time and she returned his gaze, though she felt the strange tinge of shame at her body nearly failing her.

When Tywin reached her, he looked at her for a moment before turning to look out the window.

“My lord,” she greeted, her voice shakier than intended.

“Maester Pycelle said it was a false labor,” Tywin stated. Every word was devoid of any sort of feeling, his explanation clear and clinical. Ned wouldn’t have been like that. He would have been at her side when she woke up, held her hand, kissed her on the forehead as Maester Luwin gently explained what had happened. Still, she appreciated Tywin’s preciseness. Too often men thought of women as weak and tried to soothe them with sugarcoated words, but she had never been one for that, never once liked it or wanted it. “Brought on by stress.”

“Stress,” Catelyn repeated, her lips pursing.

Of course she was stressed. Of course. The urge to laugh crawled inside her, her gut clenching as she held the laughter in. The love of her life was dead; all of her children were dead; her House was in ruins; her brother was a captive; and she was living and sharing the bed of the man who did this to her. Of course she was bloody stressed.

Instead of saying these things, all of which Tywin already knew, Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Then perhaps I should keep my distance from your daughter.”

“This is no joking matter, Catelyn,” Tywin told her, almost harsh, and looked at her sharply. There was a coldness in his eyes that caught her off guard.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t think I know that?” Folding her arms against her chest, she glared at him, determined to not get upset. “This is my child – the only child I have after bearing five – and my body almost failed me. Don’t talk to me about this not being a joking matter because it has been a long time since I have laughed. And you speaking to me like this is not helping matters, so I suggest you stop berating me or feeling angry towards me for something I could not help.”

In a matter of seconds, the look on his face softened. It wasn’t much, but just enough for her to notice. “Perhaps I should have taken you to Casterly Rock during your pregnancy. Things would have been…easier for you there.”

“My place is at my husband’s side,” Catelyn said softly, looking down at her bump, “and I am not the type of woman that likes to be tucked away.”

“Nor would I want you to be,” Tywin replied. Taking a breath, he reached out and touched her belly with his fingertips, slowly spreading his hand until his palm was flat against the swelling bump. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“And your new heir,” Catelyn added, somewhat dryly.

When Tywin flicked his eyes to hers, the air went right out of her chest. All she could do was gaze up at him. There was something very different about the look he was giving her right now, something very raw in his eyes that she had never seen before. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. “You must rest,” he said as he pulled away.

“I just woke up,” Catelyn protested, throwing the blanket and trying to move.

The hand on her belly stiffened, though he did not push it against her; and she stopped moving. “Rest.”

“I’m not going to be treated like a child,” Catelyn told him, leaning back against the pillows.

“And I will not treat you like one,” Tywin replied carefully. She gave him a look, but said nothing. “Tomorrow, we will go out to the gardens. I know how much you like them; and it will not be long before the flowers die when winter comes upon us. But today, I want you to rest. We need to be careful.”

Catelyn bit her lip. “Just this once.”

“Just this once, I promise.” When Tywin made a promise, she was more than certain that he always kept them. Words were wind, but some wars were won with words. “And it might be best if you and Cersei are kept apart.” She smiled a little at that. Tywin sighed and frowned. “I’m taking a trip to the gates to see how the rebuilding is going, but I’ll be back before you sup. I’ll have your brother sent back in.”

Before she could say anything, Tywin began to walk away. “Thank you,” she called out. He turned around to look at her. “You didn’t have to let him stay, so thank you.”

Tywin said nothing. He just nodded his head and then walked out the door. Catelyn sank further into the bed, taking a moment to take relief in the brief respite of loneliness. She didn’t want to be alone, but as she closed her eyes, she tried hard to focus on the life inside of her. It was still beating, still breathing, still living. Where her hands were, she felt warm. She remembered when she’d first stepped into this room, and she had never felt so cold. No winter in the North had been more bitter or colder than how she’d felt that day. And now that winter was finally coming, warmth spread all throughout her body, to her toes and fingertips, from where his hand had been and where he’d kissed her on top of her head.

“Another month,” she whispered to herself, to the baby, rubbing her belly gently. Another month and she would have a family again in the eyes of society. She would love this child fiercely. She would protect this child even if it meant her life. Anyone in the world could threaten this child, and she would kill them. She had failed Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Though their deaths had not been by her hands, she could still feel their hot blood on her hands.

But she would love this child. She would watch their child grow old, fall in love, marry, have children of their own. It would be difficult. King’s Landing had a way of stifling any happiness and squashing true goodness out of a person, but she would not let it happen. Tywin would try to harden their child, as he had done his three children before, but even if it meant protecting the child from their own father, she would do so with grace. She would not fail.


	15. The Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a long ass chapter and my struggles to write about childbirth. (Also I love Jamie too much.)

Catelyn stared out the window, looking downtrodden and somewhat desperate, her fingers of one hand splayed against the stone beneath the glass, the other holding her swollen belly. Would that she could be out in the city right now, wandering the market, anything but in the Red Keep. Years ago, she had been able to tour the towns surrounding Winterfell whenever she wanted. She had loved the way that every city seemed to be teaming with children running around and laughing, despite the cold weather. In her youth at Riverrun, they had been somewhat secluded. Winterfell had always bustled with life since it was the center of the entire North. Even though the towns were far and wide apart, all of them were filled with life. In the Riverlands, it was much the same, perhaps even more so because of the warmer weather, but she had been separated from most of the people.

There was something so very proper about the South. Because she was a woman, she was kept from men; and because she was highborn, she was kept from everyone else. In the North, you had to know who you were surrounded by, because you might depend on them come winter should you run out of food or wood. The people came together in the North while they bickered and kept with their properness in the South. She missed that about the North, missed its people and the warm smiles they showed. She’d been so scared that they’d scorn a Southerner like her, but while they might have been wary, she had been welcomed with open arms and been taught how to survive in the North like a true Northerner.

It wasn’t like that in King’s Landing, not one bit. The people here fought and scowled and stole from one another without care. And even if they did none of that, they would stick up their noses and say the snottiest remarks.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so fondly at the city before,” a voice said behind her. “For a place that everyone wants to fight over, no one that actually lives here seems to like it.”

When Catelyn turned her head, she saw Jaime Lannister standing before her, out of his white armor. “The city isn’t so bad,” she said as she turned back to look out the window, “but the people in this castle are abhorrent.”

Jaime laughed, loud and unforgiving. “I’m not even sure I could call the people that grace these halls _people_. They’re more like desperate, little peasants hoping to get a treat before being pat on the head and sent back to whatever hole they crawled out of.”

“That’s cruel,” Catelyn told him, frowning at her reflection in the window. She thought something very similar to that, though she never said it out loud, but she saw the way people practically tripped over themselves while bowing quickly before Tywin or how they threw every compliment they could think of at his feet. She saw their wide smiles while they opened up their hands and how they would scowl once he turned away. The people of the court were paper thin and sometime she swore that she could literally see through them, as if they were nothing but wind.

“Ah, but you agree,” Jaime pointed out as he stood next to her. He gave her a careful look over. “I can see it in your face.”

“I’ve never been one for court games,” Catelyn admitted, glancing at him quickly.

“That’s the biggest difference between you and Cersei,” Jaime said. “She loves them.”

Catelyn bit her lip, trying to keep a snappy comment to herself. She did not care about how Jaime might feel if she insulted his sister in front of him, especially since she knew the…rumors concerning what went on between the two of them. Still, she didn’t want to get in the habit of speaking her mind about the Queen Regent. It didn’t do well to insult the woman when nothing came about it. Instead, it only seemed to stress her further. She rubbed her belly more, almost like a reflex.

Jaime gave her a peculiar look. “You’ve been oddly…quiet today.”

“Following me, have you?” Catelyn rolled her eyes at him.

“You don’t think my father would let you out of someone’s sight when you’re so close to giving birth, do you?” The smile on Jaime’s face wasn’t a mocking one, but it wasn’t exactly a kind one either. It looked more like a joke, reminding her strangely of Theon Greyjoy. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve not been alone since that little…incident.”

Thinking back on his words, Catelyn realized that he was right. If she wasn’t surrounded by handmaidens, there was always a guard on her or some lady of the court pestering her. While he’d stayed true to his word and kept Cersei away from her, Jaime was usually only a call away. Broderick was with her for the most part, keeping her company, talking to her when she felt sour towards the other ladies of the court. After the incident of false labor, there had been a few ladies that had seemingly stopped talking to her, as if they could catch a disease from her or like she had some sort of plague. She’d even overheard one lady whispering that something like that had _never_ happened to her. For some reason, hearing that comment had struck in a chord in her and made her feel wounded, even though she had been through much worse. Words had never hurt her before, but she loathed the idea of failing in anything, especially now. She hadn’t told anyone about that, though she was sure Ser Broderick had heard and decided not to say anything so that her pride would not be wounded as well.

“Always on a tight leash,” she mumbled under her breath, feeling more aggravated than thankful. She knew that it was for her own good, but she hated feeling like a burden as well. It didn’t help that she didn’t like being under watchful eyes, though she knew that the Red Keep was full of them.

“I’m fairly certain my father would kill anyone that let something bad happen to you,” Jaime said. It was the child that had him so worked up. She was due and it was making him almost…nervous. Tywin Lannister did not get nervous, but he seemed irritated almost every waking moment. The faster she had this child, the better. He’d even stopped coming to their bed most nights until the early hours, leaving her alone and cold under the blankets. It wasn’t that she missed him; it was just… Oh, she didn’t know. She missed something. “He even told Cersei to stay clear of you.”

Had she been a cruder woman, Catelyn would’ve snorted in derision. “Hm, the most stressful part of my life around here…”

“Cersei just isn’t used to having another lady around,” Jaime explained. He looked out the windows towards the sept, no doubt where Queen Margaery Tyrell was at, showing all of Westeros just how pious and pretty she was. “Not only must she contend with Margaery Tyrell for Tommen’s affections – and the fact that she will be replaced – but now she has to fight you for our father’s attention.”

“I think that’s hardly fair of her to blame me,” Catelyn pointed out. “It’s not as if I wanted to be here.”

“No, I doubt you did,” Jaime replied. “My father isn’t exactly perfect lord husband material, despite his wealth and power. But what you wanted doesn’t matter since you’re here. In the eyes of Westeros, you’re practically the queen since everyone knows that Tywin Lannister is the one truly ruling.”

This time, Catelyn could not stop a laugh bursting from her lips. “Practically the queen? Your sister must be positively _seething_.” She gripped the sill tighter, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She could fight through this. All she had to do was breath. “Well I have no intentions of being the queen or taking her place. All I want to do is give birth and raise this child in peace – and to not act like any of the people here.”

Jaime tilted his head curiously. “Catelyn… You’re due quite soon, aren’t you? I confess, I do not know much about children or giving birth – that was always for Cersei to know – but when she was with child…” Catelyn opened her eyes to look at him. “It’s been a little over nine months, has it not? You could pop any day now.”

“Any day.” Catelyn smiled a little, but the smile was gone in a flash and not cheerful besides. “Not just any day.”

Catelyn could honestly say that she had never once seen Jaime Lannister look scared, alarmed, or nervous – and she had seen him bloodied, bruised, chained up, and locked in a cage. He had never once looked bothered. Right now though, there was alarm flashing in his green eyes. “How long?” he demanded. When she didn’t answer him right away and turned her face from him, he reached over and grabbed her wrist. “How _long_?”

“Five hours or so,” she answered, jerking her wrist out of his grip. “It is merely early labor. I needed to walk; it helps the contractions–”

“Five hours?” Jaime shook his head. “You were still with my father when it started and you neglected to tell him?”

“I did not feel he needed to know yet,” Catelyn replied stiffly.

“Don’t tell him that. He thinks it’s his business to know everyone’s business.” Jaime gave her a hard look. She was certain that this was bothering him so much only because it had to do with his father. If anything were to happen to her or the child, his father would’ve been furious; and right now, she was under Jaime’s care. “Come, let’s go to Maester Pycelle.”

Catelyn put her hands protectively on her belly and stepped back from him. “I’m not going to that man. You’ll need to fetch Maester Varden.”

“Is there even any time for that?”

“Of course there is.” Catelyn let out an aggravated huff. “I’ve had five children before; I know what I’m doing.” It hurt to say it, but it had to be said. No sense in tiptoeing around the facts. “And you said yourself that you know little about childbirth.”

The look on Jaime’s face softened slightly, but there was still alarm in his eyes. She could hear the clock ticking in his head: the time he had to get Catelyn to a maester before his father punished him. “All I remember is the screaming.”

“That comes later,” Catelyn replied, trying not to cringe as another contraction hit her. They were getting close now, to the point where she knew that she would have to go to a maester. It had been foolish of her to wander about on her own, but a part of her had known that she wouldn’t be. There were maids and servants running about this castle at all times. She was rarely alone, if ever. She hadn’t thought that it’d be a problem. When she’d gone into labor with Rickon, she’d walked around the grounds of Winterfell with Ned until her feet were sore. “Right now, I–”

“ _Cat_.” The nickname came out choked and his eyes widened as he looked down at her, as if he was seeing something terrifying, something he’d never thought to see before. She would’ve been shocked by the name coming out of his mouth had she not felt a cold wetness running down her legs. When she glanced down, she saw the front of her dress was dark and there was water pooling at her feet.

“My water broke,” she announced in the calmest, most detached voice she could muster. “That doesn’t mean the baby is coming right now, Jaime. With Arya, it was another eight hours before–”

“I don’t care what happened then,” Jaime interrupted. “I care about what’s happening now and what my father will do to me if I don’t get you to a maester.”

Sighing with frustration, she nodded her head and began to walk with him in silence towards the room that had been designated for the birthing. They passed a servant, who Jaime stopped and ordered to find Maester Varden and the Hand of the King. The servant dropped the cloth in her hands and went flying down the hall. Tywin had been true to his word and had found another maester, one that was specifically skilled in child labor, to deal with the pregnancy. The only time Maester Pycelle had been involved had been when she’d had a false labor and there had been no time to get Varden. He had come the next few days to check on her progress, endlessly optimistic and pleasant always, something she had appreciated so much. Pycelle was so gloomy these days, apparently ever since Tyrion Lannister had had his beard chopped off and he’d been thrown in the black cells.

It was only when she had to stop for the second time, her hand pressed against the stone wall, did she realize just how far she’d wandered in the Red Keep. The castle was deceptively smaller on the outside, but had so many winding corridors on the inside that one could easily get lost. Luckily, she’d had far too much time on her hands and had spent most of it walking around this castle and Jaime had been living in the Red Keep since he was barely a man grown. Still, she knew that she’d walked too far from the safety of her room. The contractions were growing even more painful. This one was nearly crippling, making her wish for a bed more than anything.

“This isn’t going to work,” Jaime said, mostly to himself. She glowered at him, meaning to throw some snappy comment about him not being the one that was going to give birth, when he swept her right off her feet without any warning.

“Ser Jaime, put me down!” Catelyn protested, weakly struggling in his arms. “I can walk on my own!“

“At the rate you’re walking and needing to stop, you’re going to give birth in the hallway,” Jaime told her as he started up the stairs she’d been dreading to walk up. He carried her like she weighed nothing, something she was sure had to be a feat. He might not have been in his armor, but she still couldn’t be that light, what with the size of her belly. “I’m not sure about you, but I’m not particularly adept at delivering babies.”

Of course she didn’t want to think he was right, but she knew that she was having trouble walking. It had been years since Rickon’s birth. His had been an easy one compared to Robb’s and Arya’s, from what she remembered, but she’d apparently forgotten just how shockingly painful the contractions could be. She’d expected it, but they still somehow managed to catch her off guard. Jaime walked in silence, not glancing at her once and only looking ahead to see where he was going. If any servants got in his way, he barked at them to move.

“None of these servants have any common sense,” he muttered to himself. She looked at him to see if there was any strain in his face from carrying her for so long, but there seemed to be none. It was as if her weight didn’t bother him at all. If anything, the strangeness of the situation bothered her more than anything else. Two years ago, he had been her prisoner, chained up and close to being killed by an angry Northerner. Now he was carrying her through the Red Keep so she could safely give birth to his sibling.

 _His sibling,_ Catelyn thought suddenly, feeling decidedly foolish for having truly not thought of it before. _I am giving birth to his brother or sister._

Tyrion Lannister had been the only younger sibling that Jaime had had; and she knew that he had actually been fond and cared for his stunted brother, unlike most of the people in Westeros. Jaime Lannister probably cared for few people, save for himself and his sister, but he had loved his brother. Now his brother was gone, a condemned criminal and possible murderer. She wondered what feelings Jaime had for the child that would take his younger brother’s place.

“I once heard my father say that he sometimes wondered if he had ever been meant to have any more children besides Cersei and me,” Jaime suddenly said in a distant voice, “and if Tyrion’s birth and my mother’s death were punishments for him wanting more than the gods deemed he could have.”

Catelyn felt like she could barely breath, but she knew that she had to. “Jaime, I…”

After nearly fifteen minutes of acting like she wasn’t in his arms, Jaime looked at her. “We’re here, my lady.” He set her down on her feet very gently. For a second, she wobbled; and he held onto her arm until she steadied herself. Handmaidens seemingly appeared out of nowhere and pulled her into the room. She glanced back at him and saw him just standing there, a strange look on his face. “Good luck.”

It was the same, dark look his father had worn when she’d told him that she was pregnant.

The look of expected doom, as if he too thought she would suffer the same fate as his late mother.

“Thank you,” Catelyn said to him, before the door was shut and Jaime was gone.

The handmaidens prepared Catelyn as they waited for the arrival of Maester Varden and the midwife, setting her down comfortably in the birthing bed that had been brought for her. It was the same one Cersei Lannister had used; though no one had told her, she’d found out easily enough through some of Cersei’s snide comments at dinner. They laid pillows against her lower back to help her be at ease but that didn’t stop the pain. Predictably, the midwife showed up first, immediately showing the handmaidens who was boss. She was an older woman, probably in her sixties, but she knew what she was doing. Catelyn liked that about her. She didn’t want any fresh newcomer to the baby business. Maester Varden showed up just as the contractions felt like they were too close. He wore an amiable smile on his face as he pushed up the sleeves of his robe.

“Ready for the big day?” Cheerful, always cheerful.

Catelyn could not express to him how grateful she was that he alone seemed completely at ease and even happy about what was going on. She didn’t think she could have been able to handle Maester Pycelle’s graveness at a time like this, not when everyone else seemed to look at her as if she was going to drop dead. “As ready as I can be, I suppose.”

“It will be fine, my lady,” Varden reassured her, pressing his hand against her forehead. She was already starting to sweat from the effort. She knew that the time to push was coming, but a part of her wanted to hold back. With everyone else on edge, it made her nervous as well. What was it that Jaime had said? That the Lannisters were cursed to have no more children? Or at least none that were deformed or cursed themselves…

She thought of Tyrion Lannister, his stunted legs and arms, his large head, his mismatched eyes, and that lion’s grin that cut across his face whenever he said something witty. He had been smart, perhaps more than most men in Westeros, and look where it had gotten him. She could not have that for her child, not this one, not her only remaining one.

_Sansa, where are you? And Arya, are you even alive? You are going to have a new sibling now, but will you ever know why?_

After examining her carefully, nodding and muttering to himself, Varden sat down next to her, that same old smile on his face. “Everything seems to be going accordingly. I’d say you’re nearly fully dilated.”

“Feels like it,” Catelyn huffed, another hard contraction clenching inside of her. She looked around the room, noting the two handmaidens, the midwife, and Maester Varden. Something felt wrong. Something was…missing. “Where is Lord Tywin?”

Maester Varden and the midwife gave each other a look before turning their attention back to her. The midwife bustled around behind Varden, who wore a smile on his face, but Catelyn could see the strain in the smile no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “My lady–“

“I want my husband in here,” Catelyn gritted out, trying not to cry out from pain. The contractions were closer now. She knew that it would not be much longer, but despite being so eager to have the child and be done with all the doom and gloom surrounding her, she desperately wanted to hold back now. She could not begin to understand why she wanted the man that had planned the murder of her last remaining son to be in the same room as she gave birth to another, but she wanted him here, with her, by her side, holding her hand as Ned had done during Sansa’s, Bran’s, and Rickon’s births. “I want him in here _now_.”

“He thought it best if he waited until everything was over,” Varden told her carefully.

“I don’t care what he thought was best,” Catelyn snapped, her breathing becoming more erratic. No, she had to take deep, long, measured breaths. It would only make things more difficult if she was huffing and puffing for air. But she wanted Tywin here and he wasn’t and she didn’t care if anyone else was here, she wanted him and she wanted Edmure and-and— “He is my husband and this is his child, our child; and I want him here!”

Varden held her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure he is right outside the door should his assistance be needed, my lady.”

Despite herself, despite everything, tears began to leak out of Catelyn’s eyes and she threw herself back against the pillows in a frustrated huff. “I won’t… I won’t…not until he’s here,” she said stubbornly, biting her lip and shaking her head.

“I do not think you have a choice in the matter,” Varden said, almost like a joke, but patient, always patient with her.

 _Now I’m acting like a child,_ Catelyn thought in a moment when the pain wasn’t too great. A second later, the moment was washed away by a big contraction, making it feel like she was being stabbed. She grunted in pain and closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing like the midwife was instructing her to do. _I have given birth to five healthy babies. I do not need your coaching as if I am a new mother._

Robb’s birth came to mind quite suddenly. She pictured herself then, a girl of seven and ten, bright red hair, a swollen belly, swollen ankles, what felt like a swollen everything. She had been so scared then. There had been no man to help her then either. Ned had been off at war, near death on a daily basis, and she had been so near life, so full of it that life itself was growing inside of her. And she’d thought of her mother, who had been so full of life as well, but it had been a lie. Her mother had just been filled with death and she had given birth to a stillborn and then died for it. Oh gods, Cat had been frightened so much that she would suffer the same fate as her mother. Instead of Ned, she’d had her father pacing behind the doors. Edmure had wanted to be in there with her, had told her all throughout her pregnancy that he would hold her hand if Ned could not, but once she’d started screaming and crying, the brave, little boy had paled and been dragged out of the room by Lord Hoster Tully.

And here she was now, alone again, near to the point of screaming, painfully wanting to cry, but determined to do neither.

“Catelyn, I need you to focus,” Varden told her. “Now is the time to _push_.”

“Tywin–”

But no, she could not hold it and her body worked for her with a mind on its own, pushing, pushing. And she tried not to scream, gripped the pillows and blankets and sheets as hard as she could. She thought of her reaction after she’d agreed to Tywin’s marriage proposal – how she’d gone to her room and gripped her sheets until they’d torn. She could hear the ripping of the fabric now, such thin, flimsy material. _We will need thicker blankets and sheets for the winter,_ she thought deliriously. _The baby will need warm blankets._ She pushed again; and before she knew it, a scream tore out of her throat, strangled and raw.

“You need to breathe, my lady,” the midwife pointed out.

Catelyn took a labored but deep breathe instead of snapping viciously at the older woman. It wasn’t her fault. She was just doing her job. Catelyn kept thinking that and closed her eyes as the woman continued to instruct her to breathe. _I know, I know,_ but it was so difficult when it felt like her entire inside of body was clenching. She wanted to bite her lip to keep from screaming or crying out in pain, but then she couldn’t breathe, but wheneve4r she opened her mouth, all she wanted to do was cry out.

“Lady Catelyn,” Varden said suddenly, “I can see the head.”

She could hear the excitement in his voice and she could feel it in her chest. She felt as if she’d been pushing for hours when it had only been around thirty minutes. Pushing and breathing and pushing and breathing, the cycle went round and round. With each push, she exhaled heavily, thinking to herself that it might be her last. She couldn’t think like that though, even if the pain was so great that she felt like she was being torn in two.

“You’re close, my lady!” he told her. She knew, she knew. She didn’t need to see it to know; she could feel it. It was as if she could feel the life of her child leaving her womb. “Just a little more!”

It was painful, so painful. Tears slipped out of her eyes, burning paths down her cheeks, no matter how much she squeezed her eyes shut. This was as painful as Arya’s birth had been. She had been difficult too, as she had been in life, stubborn and bull-headed as a baby as she was a child. And this child now – it hurt, for so many reason. A year ago, she had been the mother to a king. A year ago, she had been with her brother and her son’s men. She had been in the Riverlands, but with the North. She’d had a simpleton’s blood on her hands. She’d lost all her children, all her hope. Two years ago, she had been with Ned, back in Winterfell, and she had been so ridiculously happy.

No, she had been so bloody foolish.

And now – oh, now, she was giving birth again, just as she had wished to do two years ago, but instead of the child being with her beloved Ned, it was with Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand that had replaced her late husband, who had plotted her son’s murder, who had ordered the burning and butchering of her father’s and brother’s (her) homeland, who had forced her into this marriage, who had had a hand in taking away everything she loved and held dear.

(And she was happy?)

Robb’s voice came to her suddenly, clear as day, sounding just as mournful as he had in the nightmare she’d had the night a false labor had scared her: _“How could you betray me like this?”_ But she wasn’t betraying him, not his memory, not his soul, not his life or his reign. _Robb, please…_ It wasn’t as if she had wanted this to happen. When she had entered into a compromise with Tywin about this marriage, she had known that it would be expected of her to have his children, but she had not thought…could not have begun to imagine…

“So close, my lady,” Varden chimed. “You’re doing fantastic. You’re almost there.”

For some strange reason, she hadn’t thought it would come to this. She’d never once pictured the idea of giving birth to a Lannister.

All her wolf cubs were gone, and she would be giving birth to a _lion_.

Catelyn pushed hard, a scream ripping out of her throat, and then–

A child crying, loud and piercing, howling – no, roaring – as loud as can be. It had been so long since she’d heard a beautiful sound like that. Not since she’d given birth to Rickon, who had wailed as wildly as possible the moment he’d come out of her.

Catelyn collapsed into the bed, sweaty and dizzy, breathing erratically. “My child,” she muttered. But she couldn’t see the child, not the way Varden was holding the babe, and her legs were in the way. She went to put her legs down and raised her arms. “I want to see my child.”

“Not yet.” Varden turned and handed the bundle to the midwife. He gave Catelyn an apologetic yet serious look. “We must stitch you up a bit.”

It took everything in Catelyn not to scream one more time. She just sat in a stunned and dazed silence as she listened to the cries of her child that told her that he was alive, so alive, vibrating with life. It took everything in her not to break down and cry herself. She laid there in pain, gripping the sheets tightly, as tears spilled out of her eyes more. She knew that it was for her own good. Some women bled out after giving birth if they were not paid enough attention afterwards. The birth had been extremely painful. She also knew that Varden would potentially lose his head if anything happened to her that he could have prevented. In order to distract herself from Varden and the pain, she focused on the back of the midwife as the old woman cleaned up the fussing baby.

Finally, what felt like hours later, Varden sat up straight and smiled. “Would you like to hold your child, Lady Catelyn?”

Catelyn did not say anything. She just propped herself up carefully and then held out her hands. The midwife picked up the bundle and gently placed it down in Catelyn’s arms. An overwhelming and powerful sensation swelled up inside of her, to the point where she choked on a little sob, as Catelyn looked down into the face of her newborn son.

The boy had quieted down, his eyes closed, his body still, as he nestled against her in the blanket. When she pushed the top of the blanket back, she saw a thin layer of bright blonde hair, so Lannister, but when she touched his cheek and the baby opened his eyes, she saw the shocking Tully blue eyes that she, Edmure, and Lysa had been born with. All babies were born with blue eyes; Maester Luwin had explained that to her after Arya’s light blue eyes had shifted to Stark grey a few weeks later. Still, she knew that this boy’s would not change. He would see the world through the same eyes she did.

She was so busy staring down at the child that she did not hear the door open nor did she hear the slow, methodic footsteps towards the bed. It was only when she felt a presence, powerful yet hesitant, did she look up and see Tywin standing there, looking down at the child in her arms. His child, his son, his heir to Casterly Rock.

“A boy,” Catelyn proclaimed proudly, “just as I said he would be.”

“You did...” Tywin stopped, as if trying to think of the proper words. She had never once known him to be hesitant before. He had only ever been swift and confident in all that he did. “You did well, my lady.”

Tywin stepped closer to her, just close enough for her to reach out and grab his hand to pull him down next to her on the bed, but she wouldn’t let go of her child. There was a strange look on his face: distant almost confused, as if he could not tell how things had come to this either. She supposed it was shocking for him to have another child after being a widow for around thirty years. All three were silent. She hadn’t even noticed that everyone else had left the room. The boy looked around the room, his eyes blinking very slowly. _I am tired as well, my boy._

“He looks more like you,” Catelyn said quietly. “He has your hair, your nose, your mouth…”

“He has your eyes,” Tywin added, looking up into hers suddenly. They stared at each other for a minute, like they were trying desperately to read each other’s minds and feelings in this moment. Catelyn honestly couldn’t even begin to describe how she felt: shocked, confused, elated, devastated. The list could go on and on. It had taken her nine months, but she had finally come to the realization that things were just as strange for Tywin as well. He had been her enemy, but she had been his.

( _Had been._ They _had been_ enemies.)

“What would you like to name him, my lord?” Catelyn asked as she turned her attention back to her child.

“Have you any thoughts on the matter? Any preferences?”

Catelyn glanced up at Tywin briefly. In all honesty, she hadn’t thought up a single name; she had always assumed that Tywin would name the child without asking her for her opinion. She bit her lip, stroking the boy’s soft cheek, and shook her head. A part of her thought that she should want to name the child after someone she had lost, but…a greater part of her didn’t want to do that. It felt too much like pouring salt in the wound. Certainly Tywin would not want some common Riverlands name to be bestowed upon his child and she wasn’t familiar with Lannister or Westerland names.

She didn’t care anyways. She would love her son no matter his name.

“Tyson,” her lord husband decided. “We will name him Tyson.”

Catelyn looked down at the babe in her arms. He’d closed his eyes again and had turned his face so that it was closer to her breast. His skin was pale except for a rosy, little nose. Tyson Lannister. She rolled the name around in her mind a few times experimentally. It had a strong ring to it. He was a beautiful baby, just as delicate looking as Robb had looked the moment he’d been born. He had wailed louder than all of them though, even louder than Arya and Rickon.

A hand on her shoulder startled Catelyn out of her thoughts and she looked up into Tywin’s eyes. “Maester Varden said you lost a good amount of blood,” he told her quietly.

“The worst is over,” Catelyn said in a final tone, though she knew that it wasn’t true. Her mother had died days after giving birth to a stillborn. She had lost a lot of blood during that birth and the maester had said she would heal, but then… The infection had set in without warning. Catelyn knew that she had to be careful, that the weakness she was hiding from Tywin could sneak up on her, but she didn’t want to let him on to any of her fears or insecurities. She would be strong before him. “I will be fine. You need not worry about us. I am fine. Our son is fine.”

Tywin’s hand slid down her arm until it was touching her hand that held their son in her arms. He looked at her, saying nothing. She felt something close to…to something very, very strong in that moment. It scared her, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing in return. He nodded his head, as if to reassure himself that her words were true. “I will leave you to rest. You should rest.” He bent down and gently kissed her on the forehead, before leaving the room just as rigid as he had walked in.

Catelyn sank down in the bed, holding the child close to her. _We are both Lannisters here,_ she thought as she gazed at her sleeping son, _but we will be Tullys as well, as strong as the coursing river._


	16. The Mother

The disgruntled look on Cersei’s face would quite possibly sustain Catelyn for the rest of her life. No one told her of how the Queen Regent had reacted once she’d heard the news about Catelyn’s successful birthing, but Catelyn liked to imagine that it hadn’t been a happy one at all. Even now, a week later, Cersei refused to look at the babe and seemed fully intent on pretending he didn’t exist at all. Catelyn was fine with that; she preferred that Cersei stayed as far away from her child as possible. The Queen had harmed one of Catelyn’s children; she would not have the chance to lay a finger on this one. Catelyn would make certain of that.

“Can I hold him?” Tommen asked, glancing from his mother to Catelyn.

“No,” was all Cersei proclaimed, as much venom injected into that one syllable word as possible.

“Of course you can,” Catelyn told him sweetly, “but you must be careful.”

Tommen nodded his head enthusiastically. “Oh, I will.”

As Catelyn picked up Tyson from his cradle, Cersei said nothing. She merely folded her arms across her chest and glowered. This was the child that had possibly stolen Casterly Rock from her. It would have fallen to her had Tywin not had another heir, most like. Catelyn knew that complicated things and made life even more dangerous for her son. She wasn’t a fool to think otherwise. Cersei Lannister did not suffer competition lightly. Still, Catelyn acted like nothing bothered her as she gently placed Tyson in the young king’s arms.

“Make sure to support his head,” Catelyn instructed.

It was a sweet picture: the little blonde king cradling a baby boy in his arms. Tommen looked down in awe at the child; and Catelyn could see him mouthing words to the baby, probably things like, “hello,” and “how are you?” and “my name is Tommen.” All sweet, innocent things, just as he was, even if he had come from something not-so-innocent at all. Catelyn wondered, not for the first time, how such a boy could have come from two people. He reminded her of Edmure so much sometimes that it hurt.

“He’s so little,” Tommen whispered. “And he’s my uncle, even though he’s just a baby, just like Uncle Ser Jaime?”

Before Catelyn could say anything, Cersei stepped forward, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Yes, just like Uncle Jaime.”

Catelyn did not even want to bother opening that door. She kept her mouth closed and her eyes on the boy king. There were some doors that were better left closed; and that was definitely one of them.

“I’ve never held a baby before,” Tommen added. “I was the baby of the family.”

“Never?”

Tommen just shook his head.

Catelyn felt a bit stunned. All of her children had held a baby, even Rickon, who had been allowed to hold the month-old babe of one of the handmaiden’s. Robb had held all of them and he had always been happy to do so. He’d been so proud to be a big brother, smiling wide and eyes shining whenever he saw his new sibling for the first time. She would always remember the look on his face when he’d first seen Sansa. He’d been four, small and curious as ever. Ned had let him inside their bedchambers and Robb had rushed to the bed only to tentatively crawl on top of it to be with her. _“She looks like me,”_ he had said. And then, a serious look had come over him, one that should never cross a child’s his age, and he’d added, _“I’ll be the best big brother ever. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt her.”_

Catelyn wondered if Robb had remembered that promise when he had made the decision to not trade the Kingslayer for Sansa and Arya, if the memory had burned him when he’d heard of how Sansa had been forced to marry Tyrion Lannister, as it had done her.

“I wish Myrcella was here,” Tommen said as he handed the baby back to Catelyn. He wore a sad look on his face, though when he glanced at his mother, the look went away just as quickly as it had come. “Tyson looks just like her dolls that she played with all the time when she was little.”

“Tommen,” the Queen Regent said, “I believe it’s time for your lessons.”

The boy deflated. “But Maester Pycelle _smells_.”

“I’ll have none of that,” Cersei said, and Tommen immediately stopped any protests. One of the Kingsguard, Ser Osmund Kettleback, appeared at the door and escorted King Tommen from the room, leaving the two women alone.

Once the king was gone, Catelyn turned around to place her son back in his cradle, completely ignoring the other woman, her attention solely focused on her child. He was a quiet baby, quieter than even Sansa had been. Sometimes it scared her how quiet he was; she’d be stricken with fear that he had stopped breathing and would rush to check, only to find him sleeping soundly or waving his arms at the toys hanging above him.

“You’re nothing but a glorified prisoner,” Cersei spit out, “a whore that my father could whelp an heir on.”

“Well, if I am a whore, then having a son to be the heir of Casterly Rock is no small feat,” Catelyn replied, turning around to face the other woman. There was a cool look on her face, nothing to betray her anger or disgust. Now that she had had Tyson and Maester Varden had given her a clean bill of health, so to speak, she did not have to worry about Cersei stressing her. Stress no longer deteriorated her health. In fact, Catelyn almost welcomed this onslaught, had been preparing for it the moment she’d given birth to a boy, ready to strike back with just as equally sharp claws.

A mother will do anything to protect her young.

Cersei sneered. “You’re not even a highborn now. The Tully name is no better than a bastard’s.”

“Perhaps you forget,” Catelyn said with a small smile, not a hint of warmth in it, “I married your father. I’m a Lannister now.”

“You will never be a Lannister,” Cersei hissed, stepping forward, “and neither will your son be.”

Catelyn did not move, say anything, or even blink; she stood her ground, the smile still on her face. It only served to infuriate Cersei even further. What was Cersei Lannister compared to Lord Tywin? If she was not intimidated by him any longer, then Cersei was nothing. There was no chance that Cersei would make her back down now. She had been in the lion’s den for too long to be afraid of anyone. It had been nearly a year to the day that she had married Lord Tywin; and Catelyn had made herself stone a long time before that.

When Catelyn showed no hint to budge or back down, Cersei snapped, “Your son is just a consequence of war, an afterthought, nothing more; and you are the spoils,” and then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The noise was enough to startle the baby; and he began to cry behind Catelyn. She sighed and picked him up again, soothing him in her arms. Almost immediately, he quieted against her chest. Looking down at the quiet child, Catelyn could not help but think of Cersei’s words. They were poison, she knew, but rang true on some level. Losing her children had been noted down as a consequence of war, but gaining this son could be as well. She would never have had him had the War of the Five Kings been waged, had she not been pressured into this marriage to settle any petty rebellions in the Riverlands and the North.

But how could such a peaceful child be a product of a violent war?

The door opened and in walked Tywin, looking somewhat…tired from the day’s activities. She knew better than to ask him about his day. He’d been dealing with the small council all day, most importantly with the new Maester of Coin, seeing as how Petyr was now in the Vale. Things were not going well. The coffers were depleted and owed him more gold than most Westeros people would ever see. “How is he?” Tywin asked.

“Well,” Catelyn answered, “Maester Varden checked him earlier this morning and said that he’s perfectly healthy.”

Though he did not change his expression or demeanor, Catelyn thought she could see the relief in his eyes. His last child had come out deformed with a smart mouth and killed his mother in the process. To hear that this birth had gone near perfectly was good news to anyone and while she knew that he had to be happy on some level, he never showed it outright.

“And you?”

Catelyn glanced up. “I’m fine, my lord. Tired, still sore, but I am well.” She gave him a little smile. “Would you like to hold your son?”

Tywin looked at the child in her arms, a rather apprehensive look on his face. She wondered not for the first time how he had been when his other children had been born. No doubt he had refused to hold Tyrion, but he had probably been proud when Jaime and Cersei had been born. Had he held them when Joanna was tired? Had he looked down on Cersei and remarked what a beautiful daughter he had? Had he smoothed down Jaime’s hair and felt a glow of pride at his seeing his heir? What kind of father had he been before he had been robbed of Joanna? Or had her death changed anything concerning his views towards his twin children and parenting styles?

“No, I do not think it would be best,” Tywin finally settled on.

Catelyn just rolled her eyes. “How does that even make any sense? You either don’t want to hold your son or you do. There is no ‘best’ reason behind it.” She held out their son to him and gave him an expectant look. “ _Hold him_. He is your son, your heir; he should know his father’s touch before any other man’s.”

Tentatively, looking as if holding his son was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, Tywin took the baby boy out of her arms. At first, he held the child too awkwardly for her taste, so she gently corrected him, moving his arms and hands until the baby was held safely and securely. It was obvious that he had not held a child in a very, very long time. She doubted that he’d ever held Tyrion, out of spite and grief; she also doubted that he’d shown any warm feelings towards his nephews or nieces or grandchildren when they had been born. Slowly, Catelyn backed away from him, so that he was left standing in the middle of the room with their son. She’d been somewhat worried that babe would start crying the moment he left her arms, but he remained silent in Tywin’s, just looking up at him with those baby blue eyes.

“See,” she said, a somewhat proud smile on her face, “it’s not so bad. I think he likes you.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Tywin’s face. She could see it. She knew that she could see it as he looked down at his son.

And it was in that moment that young Tyson started to wail like he was being attacked.

Immediately Tywin looked uncomfortable. Catelyn rushed forward and Tywin practically shoved the baby back into her arms. She pressed him against her, rubbing his back and cooing at him, until the baby slowly but surely quieted. Once he’d completely piped down, she set him back in his crib. When she turned back around to face her lord husband, she wore an apologetic (yet slightly amused) look on her face.

“I’d forgotten how loud they could be,” Tywin muttered.

“He will get used to you in time,” Catelyn reassured him. “Once he gets used to your touch, he won’t cry like that.”

“Cersei cried for hours until someone gave her attention,” Tywin pointed out, practically to himself. She could just picture a little blond girl crying for attention until a maid or even her mother came to see what the problem was. Lysa had been the same way. The moment their mother would come into her room, she’d quiet down and ask for a bedtime story. Edmure never cried for their mother as a baby. He had always cried for her, his big sister. “And I was certain people in Pentos could hear Tyrion’s wailing.”

Him talking about his past, about his children, especially Tyrion, was a step in a direction that made Catelyn nervous. She was not sure of where they were going. It was intimate, talking about their pasts. She rarely talked about hers. It was difficult when he was the man that crushed her past. Her children were dead, save for Sansa, who was still nowhere to be found a year later. Still, it affected her whenever he talked about his past. She wanted to know more, though she kept telling herself that she didn’t, but she couldn’t contain her curiosity. Of course she never asked him questions, but there were times, like now, that he’d let slip something small and seemingly insignificant that made her think over and over again.

Tywin grasped her hand, lightly so, but it was enough to bring Catelyn’s eyes to his. “Did Maester Varden tell you when it was safe to lay together again?”

Despite herself, Catelyn blushed slightly at his forwardness. “Anxious to get another child on me?”

“It has been over seven months,” Tywin told her, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I have…missed you.”

Catelyn took a sharp intake of breath and looked down at their tangled fingers. “Then it shall be eight. The birth was a success, but it was not without its difficulties. He said it would be best to be patient and take things slowly, lest I want to risk injury.” She paused, gnawing on her bottom lip, a habit she had just started to notice. She could not ever remember doing that before coming to King’s Landing. But there were times when she chewed her bottom lip raw and her handmaidens would fuss over her. “I thought that a son would end any of your needs of me. I thought…”

“That I would send you away once you provided me an heir?” His voice was almost gentle, something she knew that Tywin Lannister was not, but it was enough to make her look up at him and let him know that he was correct in his thoughts. She nodded her head, almost imperceptibly. “You mean more than that to me, my lady. And you may be the only person in King’s Landing whose company that I enjoy.”

It was hard describing how relieved she felt in that moment, hard describing how she could even feel relieved, so perhaps the feelings were better left unsaid or perturbed at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I answered your question, Joan_of_Arc, but I thought it was amusing that this would also be the chapter that would've answered your question about whether or not Catelyn and Tywin have lain together since their wedding night. It takes some math, but I did indirectly write about it.


	17. The Great Game

“He’s a plump, little thing,” Jaime noted upon inspecting the boy. “I’ve always found it remarkable how…defenseless children look at this age.”

Catelyn shifted Tyson in her arms. He reached out in an attempt to grab at Jaime’s nose, but fell short by a few inches. “Well it is a good thing then that this is one of the most protected children in the Seven Kingdoms.” It could be said that Tyson was almost just as protected as King Tommen, with the exception that Tywin had found better men in the gold cloaks’ ranks than the men in the Kingsguard.

The smile on Jaime’s face was genuine, if not a little jesting. “And to think, I was once like this, just some little…blob, couldn’t even hold a finger, much less a sword. Gods, he’s small. I don’t think even Tyrion was this small when he was born.”

He stopped, blinking slowly as he looked at the child, and then straightened his posture. Out of everyone, Jaime was the one most likely to talk about Tyrion. Tywin rarely ever brought him up and Cersei was intent on pretending she didn’t have another brother besides Jaime. Even Tommen seemed wary of bringing him up, if only because he did not want to upset anyone. She was once again reminded that this child, her child, had replaced Jaime’s brother in their father’s eyes. Though only a few days old, Tyson would take what should have been Tyrion’s birthright. Once again, it struck her to ask him how he felt about all of this, but she knew that he would only deflect.

“He will grow up strong and brave,” Catelyn said as she laid Tyson back in his crib. She would make sure of it. He would be fierce and proud and kind-hearted and quick. He would live to an old age, wise and far beyond his years even at his deathbed. He would outlast her and everyone would remember him: a lion, a Lannister, but so much more.

“I have no doubt about that, my lady,” Jaime replied. “If he grows to be anything like you, he will be a force to be reckoned with. And with the great Tywin Lannister as his father…”

It didn’t need to be said.

Catelyn sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I still think having a tournament for him is a bit absurd and extravagant, even if it’s a small one. He won’t remember it.”

“Perhaps it isn’t for Tyson then,” Jaime replied. He shrugged his shoulders, his armor clinking slightly as he did so. “Maybe it’s more for my father. After all, this is his first child in over two decades. A son, a new heir, might just be his greatest triumph in the last twenty years of his life.”

“Besides winning the War of the Five Kings?”

Catelyn fixed the Lord Commander with an emotionless gaze, but it was enough to make him look away. She didn’t care if it was rude or caused embarrassment. It had taken her over a year to come to where she was now; and she wasn’t going to let her past bring her down anymore. The hardships and loss she had faced would be overwhelming for most, but she had somehow managed to survive. She had let her past become her; and she refused to tiptoe around it with the very people that had caused her this grief.

“I would say that being married to my father has sharpened your claws, my lady,” Jaime finally said, “but I know better than that. You’ve always been a sharp one and quick to cut when provoked.” Catelyn raised an eyebrow. While some may have found what Jaime said to be rude as well, it didn’t phase her in the slightest. “Maybe you were a wolf for too long.”

“You forget, Ser Jaime,” she replied, wearing a light smile, “I’m a trout – and trout do not have claws.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Jaime peered at the child again, almost timidly. She had watched the way he interacted with Tommen. It was always so hesitant, like he didn’t know what to do or who to be around the boy king. When she had attempted to get him to hold Tyson, he had balked, telling her that he hadn’t held a baby since Tyrion had been born. She had realized then, quite sadly, that Jaime had lost more than most people realized. “This little one is going to be fierce indeed, especially if he is anything like his mother.”

Jaime left her at that, stating that he had Lord Commander business to attend to. She knew that he still felt conflicted about it – the way his lips would quirk slightly and how his eyes would dart to the side. Did he feel as if he did not deserve the title? He was the Kingslayer, after all. Or maybe it had to do with his missing hand. It had been over a year, but still she caught him trying to use his right hand, only to stop.

“My lady?”

Catelyn looked up to see that Lord Varys had peeked into her room. During her year here, they had only had a few interactions with each other. Varys was always unendingly polite to her – and while she refused to trust someone with the nickname Master of Whisperers, she knew that he was genuine in his politeness and kindness. It was strange. Out of everyone in the Small Court, she would have expected Varys to have betrayed Ned, but she knew now that Petyr had been the snake in the grass all along.

“Lord Varys, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?” Catelyn said, sitting down in a chair. “You do not normally come to the Tower of the Hand.”

“I must admit; my visits here have lessened quite a bit with the change in Hands, but I felt it would be disrespectful if I did not come to congratulate you personally.” The smile on his face was apologetic. This man was certainly dangerous, more than many gave him credit for, if only because he was rather endearing in a strange way. His kindness was unfaltering, though suspicious as well. “I sometimes wonder if it was wrong of me to not visit more often. I know that you may not desire my company, but it must get lonely here for you.”

Though she did not want to admit it, he spoke the truth. “It’s been a year and still most people of the court fear that I might taint them with some of my…bad luck.” Catelyn smiled, not bitterly. She hated most of the people here and found them to be false. She preferred having less company than the company of people that hid behind fake smiles and laughs. “They’ve yet to learn that what happened to me was neither bad luck nor contagious.”

“You have truly handled yourself with more grace than could ever have been expected, Lady Catelyn.” Varys sat down in the chair across from her, his hands folded into his sleeves like they always were. “I admire that, truly. I don’t think many people, if any to be honest, could do what you have done.”

“And what is it that I have done?”

Varys gave her a knowing look, as if telling her that he was quite aware that she knew what he was speaking of. Nonetheless, he entertained her: “Making bed with your enemy, literally, of course. I’m sure you never allow yourself to forget what the Lannisters have done to your family, but someone that didn’t know you would not sense it in you at all. It’s surprising. There was talk around the Red Keep for months…”

“Oh? I did not realize people spoke of me while I was not present.”

Varys chuckled. “That is all people seldom seem to do here. It leaves me terribly busy. I, too, was curious. Your late husband, Lord Stark… He was a good man – a virtuous man who refused to lie or betray what he felt to be right. I admired that about him – but I also recognized his damnation from the start. King’s Landing… It’s not a place for men like him.”

“No,” Catelyn replied, turning her eyes to the fireplace, “no, it’s not. It’s meant for men like Lord Tywin.”

“Indeed it is,” Varys agreed. “And I wondered… I wondered how you would turn out. I knew little about you, save for a few details that everyone knew and whatever I’m almost positive were lies from Lord Baelish. I thought you would be much like Lord Stark – honorable, true, and too forgiving.” He sighed, giving her a strange look. She didn’t know how to describe it, except that it almost made it look as if he was…sad. “I was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Do not misunderstand me, my lady,” Varys continued. “You are filled with more honor than most knights and you are most certainly true – but you are not forgiving. People seem to believe that you have forgiven and forgotten, but I know that to not be true. You will never be able to forgive Lord Tywin, no matter how much you love your son or care for your husband.”

 _‘Care for your husband,’_ she repeated in her head. It was disconcerting to hear the words come from another person’s mouth. It was even more disconcerting that she did not jump to protest the words. _Only a year and already I have lost myself._

“Nor should you be expected to. What was done to you and your family was a tragedy.” That was an understatement to say the least, but she said nothing in return. “But you have risen far from the ashes; and I suspect, your success is fueled by your desire for revenge. The best strike against your enemies would be to flourish when they want to see you fail.” Here, a little, secretive smiled appeared on Varys’ face. “But things become more difficult when the term ‘enemy’ begins to blur.”

At this, Catelyn bristled. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

The look on Varys’ face suggested that he knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets. “It’s becoming harder to tell when the act ends and the truth begins, isn’t it?”

“Tell me if I’m mistaken, but this does not sound like a congratulation,” Catelyn told him, “more like an accusation.”

“I beg your pardon then, my lady, for that was not my intention at all. What I meant to do was give you comfort. I’m sure things have been very confusing, difficult, and lonely, but you should know that what you’ve done in the past year is remarkable. Few people have your strength and will. It’s also refreshing to find someone that can’t be bothered with pettiness.” Varys stood from his seat, suddenly wearing an apologetic expression. She could see now just how much of a master manipulator he was. With Varys on one side and Petyr on the other, Ned had stood no chance. She should have begged him to stay in Winterfell, instead of believing he could do more good in King’s Landing. He’d belonged at her side, not Robert’s, as selfish as that sounded. She also knew that Tywin would not fall victim to these charms as Ned had. He was made for this game.

(And strangely enough, it appeared as if now, after all that had happened, she was too.)

Catelyn did not really know what to say. This was perhaps the longest time she’d been in Varys’ presence on her own. It startled her that he could know so much about her that she had just now started to grudgingly accept. “I will take your words as a compliment then,” she settled on.

“Thank you,” Varys said, bowing slightly. He started for the door, but stopped after opening it and turned back to face it. “And I’m certain that the love you bear for your son will carry you even further. A mother’s love and will to protect her children is a magic that even I can admire.”

Once she was alone, Catelyn stood and walked over to the crib again. So often she found herself coming back to Tyson, just so she could look at him. She’d reach down and touch his fingers, wiggle his toes, run a thumb over his cheeks. More and more she found herself amazed, practically entranced by the child, her child. He was her miracle, her saving grace. She knew that now. She’d lost everything, but at least she had him now. He looked up at her now with his bright blue eyes; and she saw a solemn gleam in them that was far beyond his age and reminded her so much of Ned. It was as if he had contracted her grief while she had carried him inside of her.

“You’ll be happy,” she promised him in a whisper, grasping one of his little fingers. “You’ll be happy and smile and laugh. I swear it to the Old Gods and the Seven.”

That night, she crawled into bed earlier than normal. A part of her had felt empty and lonely without Tyson’s crib in the room. For the first few months of all her children’s births, she and Ned had brought their cribs to sleep in their room at night. It felt wrong to be parted with them for such a long time when she’d carried them with her for nine months. However, Tywin had made a point of keeping Tyson in his own bedroom. Servants or handmaidens would hear the child’s cries in the night. He didn’t want the boy to become too dependent on either of them – didn’t want him to be weak – but she knew that he was already too strong and willful for that.

Catelyn was still awake in bed when Tywin came inside. He was quiet as he undressed. She could hear his clothes rustle and his movements around the room, but she didn’t look over at him. Instead, she felt the weight of his body on the bed and then there was nothing but the sound of his breathing.

Both of them lay silent for a while until Catelyn spoke, “Did you check on him, my lord?”

There was another pause, but then– “Yes.” The way he said it was almost begrudging, as if he didn’t want to admit to having gone and checked on his son before going to bed. She knew that he checked every night though. It had become a ritual to him, almost like a reassurance that helped him sleep sound at night.

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed that you worry about him,” Catelyn told him. “It’s only natural.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Tywin said. “I’m merely checking his progress.”

In the dark where he could not see her, Catelyn smiled slightly. “Checking his progress, I see.” She rolled over so that she was lying on her right side and facing him. “It must feel strange to have a child again after so long when you never once expected one before.” He said nothing and did nothing, still staring up at the ceiling. “It feels strange for me too.”

“I killed one son and gave you another,” Tywin suddenly said, sounding very distant and far away.

Catelyn pulled away from him, caught off guard and stung by his words. They were true though. She had told herself them time and time again in the past week, but this was the first time he had ever said them aloud, at least to her. She wondered if he talked to anyone else here on an intimate level. She had Ser Broderick to speak to at least, but who did Tywin have? He’d told her on more than one occasion that he trusted no one here in King’s Landing.

“It sometimes amazes me that you haven’t tried to kill me in my sleep yet,” he mused.

“I thought about it,” she admitted quietly.

Finally, Tywin looked over to her. “You have been very good to me, Catelyn, when you had no true reason to be. This could have – should have – remained a cold and distant marriage, but you’ve proven… You’ve proven to be a better person than I anticipated.”

Catelyn didn’t know what to say in response. A part of her wanted to ask why this had come up, but a part of her didn’t have to ask. She knew. The answer was asleep in the room next to theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a nerd and hopefully someone caught onto the title of this chapter and its relation to The Great Hunt, second novel of the Wheel of Time series.


	18. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't anticipate this, but well, this is the last chapter. I thought there would be two or three more, but there wasn't a place to split this into two chapters, so I figured that I'd just give you all a super long last chapter instead of two awkwardly split ones. Anyways, thank you all for reading this! Definitely been a journey and I really enjoyed writing this, the fic that changed so much about how I ship things. You all are amazing!

Months went by, passing her with such a speed that it was difficult for her to remember what day it was. All she found herself caring about was the growth of her son.

Tyson amazed her with every new day; and Catelyn found herself remembering with each new, little thing he did what it was like to see time pass by watching a child grow. She knew it was a new day when he would laugh and that it was a new month when he rolled onto his belly from his back for the first time. She’d been so excited about that one thing that she’d felt like bursting in on Tywin during a Small Council meeting to tell him, though she had refrained herself.

She suddenly recalled what it was like to watch a child grow instead of die. It stung, bittersweet and hot, but despite the ache in her chest, she could not hold back from loving this boy fiercely. A part of her felt as if she should resent the child. After all, there were times when loving him felt like a betrayal to her other children. How could love this child after losing all the rest? This boy was a part of the enemy, a piece of the man that had plotted her oldest and last remaining son’s murder. She should hate it, be cold to it, never look upon it with love or kindness.

But for some reason, that only made her think of Jon Snow; and she would blink those thoughts away and shove them as far from her as possible.

She thought of all the times that Jon, as a very young child, had mistakenly run up to her for a hug after watching Robb do the same. He’d only been two when he’d learned not to do that. Robb would rush inside after playing, hair covered in dusts of snow, and she’d hug him, swing him in the air as best as she could. Jon would come trailing behind him, his normally pale cheeks still rosy from the cold, and he’d tug on her dress wanting to be held as well, and she would… Well, she would always turn away from him, wouldn’t she? Never said a word, never exactly told him “no,” but she never looked at him either.

His existence had served to remind her of the shame Ned had brought into their marriage, of his betrayal to her. He’d promised her that he wasn’t like Brandon, that he would never dishonor her for his own selfish reasons, for the small amount of time they’d had alone together. And yet he had anyways and he’d brought his dishonor to live with them. And then, when she had asked a mere question, he had been angry with her, practically yelled at her, and ordered her to never speak of it again. Oh, how she had cried for days after that. What kind of terrible wife could she be if her husband could not even talk to her or tell her his secrets when she was expected to tell him everything and be completely dutiful?

And when the tears left her, she’d taken her resentment and anger and jealousy out on the boy; and by that, she had simply refused to be his mother. It wasn’t expected of her regardless. Ned never once asked her why she did not act warmly towards Jon Snow or why she never hugged him and he never told her to be either. That much was normal. In respect to the boy, once he had figured out that she was not his mother and would never act like his mother, he kept his distance from her as much as possible, not wanting to upset her. Robb had gotten angry with her a few times over it, but a child could not understand the kind of affront it was that Ned had done to her, the kind of embarrassment it brought upon her and their name.

Now… Now she looked at this child, this little boy, Tywin Lannister’s son, her son… And she thought to herself that she could be angry with this for ever happening. She could resent Tywin for forcing motherhood upon her again when he’d taken it from her in the first place. She had not wanted to lay with him in bed; she had not wanted to marry him; she had not wanted any of this. Yet he had made it happen. She didn’t want this son.

But she loved him – loved him so much that it made her ache when she was parted with him every night. She loved how he’d wrap his fingers around hers so strongly for a child that it reminded her of Rickon; his wide blue eyes always searching reminding her of Robb; how she could tell exactly what his cries were for just as she had known instinctively with Sansa; the way he crawled everywhere and got into everything like Bran had; and how strangely independent he was for a baby as Arya had been, not needing her touch as much as she wanted to touch him. Sansa and Rickon had both loved to be held all the time, Robb and Bran an average amount of time, but like Arya, Tyson almost seemed content to be by himself. Tywin was pleased with that – said that it showed strength.

Truth be told, Catelyn hoped that when he was old enough to run and speak, Tyson would cling to her as much as possible. She wanted him close by her at all times; she wanted him to love her and trust her implicitly. She tried imagining him as a toddler, but all she could do was picture Rickon the last time she saw him all those years ago and she could not think of anything else after that.

After spending at least an hour getting ready, Catelyn shooed the handmaidens away. She was not so young anymore that she needed other women fawning over her and helping her look pretty. For the most part though, she just wanted some time to herself and her son. Tyson was in his crib, happily and quietly playing with a stuffed lion that had appeared in his crib a few weeks ago. (She knew that it was a gift from Tywin, but she had not brought it up to him, knowing that it would only serve to embarrass him and he would deny it besides. One day, he would not allow their son to play with toys and so she made sure that Tyson could cherish the time he had to be a child now and did not want to spoil it with Tywin.) Her favorite part of the day was sitting down and brushing her hair while listening to Tyson play in his crib behind her.

It had been difficult getting a second crib placed in their bedchamber – Tywin had been against the idea completely – but she had fought with him for a month before he’d relented begrudgingly. And it had been begrudgingly, if only because she’d had the crib brought into their room one afternoon when she knew he would be busy all day. By the time he’d come back to sleep, it had been too late for the crib to be taken away by anyone because he was so tired from the day’s activities; and well, she had done some more convincing in the morning before he’d left again. Tyson would only be in the crib in their bedchamber when Tywin was out and he’d be back in before they retired to bed. She’d reasoned that she could have just done it without his permission and he might not have ever found out until months later.

Tywin had given her a shrewd look and told her, _“The Lannister name becomes you apparently.”_

That comment alone had been enough to make her stew for a whole week. She was a Tully. (She had been a Stark.) She would never be a Lannister, not like Cersei, who bore the Lannister name so stubbornly that it stung other people in the face.

Once she was finished doing a simple braid on both sides of her head, keeping most of her red hair down, Catelyn walked over to the crib to look in on her son. Tyson was, as usual, happily playing with his stuffed lion. When he saw her though, he dropped the toy and lifted his arms to her. It was as if he knew that she was the one that needed his comforting touch and he relented to her every morning. She liked holding him because he reminded her of life and happiness and that there was still good in the morning; she felt reassured of everything when he was in her arms. He would always be an independent child, but he knew that she was not so independent from him.

A knock on the door made her turn. “M’lady?”

“You may come in.”

Ser Broderick peeked into the room. “The Hand requests your presence. He said the tourney’s about to begin and he wants you there.”

One of the three handmaidens chosen to watch over Tyson while Catelyn was not with him slipped into the room past Broderick. With great difficulty, Catelyn parted with her son and handed him over to the young girl, a small, mousy-haired little wisp. “Thank you, m’lady," the girl, Marissa, said with a small smile on her face. A tournament was no place for a baby, despite the fact that it was specifically for the birth of their son – or maybe it was for Tywin himself. Catelyn had learned not to care about it as the planning for the whole thing went on. They had both decided that Tyson would only be there half the time. He didn’t cry much, but loud crashing noises and screaming were two things that all babies disliked.

Still, she was at least pleased with who Tywin had chose to watch over Tyson. Marissa was her favorite. The girl was endearingly sweet and great with Tyson. She was not afraid to play with the baby or look foolish doing so; once she had walked in on Marissa rolling on the floor with Tyson while he attempted to roll onto his belly for the first time. She had jumped to her feet and apologized, looking so embarrassed, but it had been such a grand and sweet sight that all Catelyn had been able to do was laugh. She had done the same thing with Robb whenever they were out of everyone’s sight at Riverrun while Ned was off at war.

“He likes to be fed at noon and have his belly rubbed and…” Catelyn trailed off. Though she never said anything or interrupted her, she knew that Marissa knew all of these things. She was the one that remembered everything. “But you know all of this. I’m being absurd. You are so good with him. Have you any children of your own?”

Marissa ducked her head and rubbed one of Tyson’s chubby cheeks. “No, m’lady, I…” When she raised her head, her eyes darted to Broderick very briefly before going back to Catelyn. The look on her face was a mixture of humiliation and sadness. “I cannot.” Before Catelyn could say anything or even think to apologize, Marissa continued, “But fret not, m’lady. That’s why I work with children, so I am still happy.”

“That is very…very kind of you, Marissa.” Catelyn felt a little stunned. The idea of being barren had scared her as a young girl, when her betrothal to Brandon Stark had first been announced, but she had not had to worry about that for many, many years; and it had no longer crossed her mind. She loved being a mother. It hurt her to think that this sweet, seemingly innocent girl would never get that chance and was forced to live vicariously through other women and her job.

“Thank you, m’lady,” Marissa replied, “but you must be off. Lord Tywin was very insistent when he asked for her. He did not want things to start before you were at his side, hence why he sent for me early.”

Catelyn nodded her head and walked to the door where Broderick was patiently waiting. She took one more glance at her son and Marissa. The young girl picked up Tyson’s hand and made it look like he was waving goodbye to her. Smiling, she stepped out of the room so that Broderick could close the door and they walked in the direction where the tournament was being held. There was only going to be a jousting and archery tournament, but it would still be a nice event. Young King Tommen had certainly been excited about the whole ordeal at least.

“You cut your hair,” Catelyn piped up as they walked outside into the sunlight.

Broderick grinned, his cheeks turning a little red. “It was getting a bit…long. S’hard enough to see out of this helmet as it is; I didn’t need my hair getting in the way of the visor too. I’d just run into walls then.”

Catelyn laughed. “Well, they did a…lovely job.”

“Oh, you don’t need to lie, m’lady,” Broderick told her, the grin still on his face. “I know it looks awful. Luckily I can wear this ugly helmet to cover up my ugly hair.” She laughed again. It felt good to laugh – it felt warm and nice. “That’s what I get for letting someone who’s been drinking cut my hair. You get what you pay for.”

Indeed, you did get what you paid for. Catelyn could attest for that in many ways. Not wanting to let something become serious or fall into sadness, she decided to switch the subject. “You know, Marissa is a very lovely girl.”

“I, ah– Yes, she is, m’lady.” Broderick immediately looked ahead and waved at the stands. “Oh, look, here already! I always forget how close these things are held to the actual Red Keep.”

There was a sly smile on Catelyn’s face, but she said nothing about that and instead added, “And it looks filled to the brim.”

“Everyone’s excited,” Broderick told her. “There hasn’t been a tourney since, hm… Since King Joffrey’s name-day tourney, but it was small and…ah…”

“Not very fun?” Catelyn offered.

The look on Broderick’s face told her that her words were an understatement at best, but he nodded his head. “Not very fun at all, m’lady.”

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. Broderick stepped in front of her to make a path, but for the most part, he did not need to move people out of the way. People parted for them the moment they realized who was walking behind him. Catelyn did not know if it was out of fear for catching whatever ill luck she might possess or fear of her lord husband’s wrath that they might procure, but the smallfolk very rarely bothered her, if at all. She did not know how she felt about their wariness towards her. Back in the Riverlands, she had loved mingling with the smallfolk and had been very well-received as the Lady of Riverrun even at a young age after her mother’s passing. The people in the North had been curious folk, but she had found them to be warm and welcoming despite her being from the South. People in King’s Landing were entirely different and their moods towards highborns seemed to shift with the wind.

When they finally reached the stand where the Hand, the king, and the queens sat, Tywin stood up from his seat. Broderick bowed and even Catelyn curtseyed slightly. She nodded once to Broderick, who smiled a little and then stepped down from the stage and, despite his gold cloak uniform, disappeared back into the crowd.

“My apologies for being late, Your Grace,” Catelyn told the young king.

Tommen did not seem to care in the slightest. “It’s okay. No one’s ready anyways.”

Catelyn took hold of the hand that Tywin had held out for her and sat down next to him. She was watching the knights walking around when she heard Cersei ask, “And where is that darling son of yours? This is all for him, after all. Should he not be out here?”

The first thing that Catelyn thought was, _Tyson is as far away from you as he can be in this godforsaken place._

What she said out loud though was, “Tyson is with the maids. Loud noises can cause a baby to lose hearing. I thought it best if he was present for the archery tournament and not the jousting. Archery tends to be quieter as a whole.” He wasn’t even one year-old and already things were expected of him and Cersei was looking down on him. It aggravated Catelyn to no end. Cersei did her best to ignore Tyson’s existence, only to make snide remarks about him when it suited her. “I expect you to know that, having had three children yourself.”

“I suppose you would know since you had five children,” Cersei snipped back, “except for the fact that they are all dead now, so I suppose you did something wrong.” When Catelyn turned her head around to glare at the other woman, all Cersei did was smile sweetly. “Let us hope that things prove different with this child.”

Catelyn gripped her lord husband’s hand tightly, if only to keep herself from standing up and slapping Cersei in the face. “Are you threatening your little brother’s life?”

Cersei’s face turned into a snarl. “He is _not_ my brother. He’s a–”

“Enough.” Tywin’s voice settled over the stage, its firmness silencing everyone. “I will not tolerate this bickering, not here, not now, not in public. This tournament will start and I will hear no more of this.”

Catelyn gave Cersei one last sharp glare before turning back around and forcibly relaxing in her seat. No doubt Cersei was fuming in her silence, but she paid the Queen no mind. She would focus on this tournament even if it bored her to tears. The tournament began as Tywin willed it; and Catelyn forced herself to pay attention, though she lost focus halfway through. This was for her child, for her husband, and in a way for her, but she could not find it in herself to care that much. She’d been to plenty of tourneys before and they were all the same in the end.

Near the end of the tournament, Tywin leaned in to whisper, “You do not need to worry about Cersei concerning Tyson. She would not dare do anything against him.”

“Are you so certain of that?” Catelyn replied, not looking at him but keeping her eyes on the knight that had just won his joust. “In her eyes, Tyson has stolen Jaime’s right to Casterly Rock.”

“Jaime lost that right when he foolishly decided to join the Kingsguard,” Tywin told her, sounding vaguely irritated, “and again when he refused to leave its service. The Rock is Tyson’s by right and he is my son. If she were to harm him…”

Catelyn looked at him finally. “Would you punish your own daughter?”

“Yes,” Tywin answered her without any hesitation.

A strange feeling coursed through Catelyn. She knew without a doubt that Tywin was not lying to her. He would protect their son, even if it meant protecting him against his own blood. It was a cold concept, but one she knew that he was wholly capable of. Tywin Lannister was not a man like any other and he did what was best for the Lannister name as a whole and not just for himself. Catelyn knew that first hand; and she hoped that as a Lannister by blood, Cersei would know that as well. Certainly Tyrion Lannister had.

Once the first round of jousting ended, Tywin walked Catelyn back to the castle where they would have lunch. Queen Margaery followed behind them, listening intently as Tommen talked about some of the day’s more shocking events, while Cersei trailed in the back with two members of the Kingsguard looking even sourer than before the tournament had first started. The whole time, Tywin kept his and Catelyn’s arms entwined, as if keeping her close to make sure she didn’t suddenly attack Cersei or perhaps to protect her. No one dared to even look at her at Tywin’s side. It was a strange thought, realizing that she was intimidating to other people, if only because of whom her husband was.

They entered the castle and went to the room where they would all be having a late lunch together. Marissa entered the room with Tyson in her arms, flanked by Ser Broderick and another gold cloak. She handed the baby to Catelyn, who thanked her, and the three left.

“Can I sit next to you?” Tommen asked her.

Catelyn felt touched. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Budding with excitement, Tommen switched seats with Margaery Tyrell, who seemed more than happy to oblige to the king, even if it meant she now had to sit next to Cersei. Tommen scooted his chair closer to her, so that he could play with Tyson as their food was being brought in. Catelyn could tell that it frustrated Tywin somewhat to see the king behaving so childishly, but Catelyn cared not. As far as she was concerned, despite the crown and title, Tommen was a child; and though he was not her own, she was determined that he savor the rest of his childhood that he had left. Robb hadn’t had that chance the moment he’d bore the crown as King in the North and he had been many years older than Tommen.

Lunch was a short affair. Catelyn ate quickly so that she could focus on Tyson while everyone else talked about what had happened so far. There was some speculation as to who might be named Queen of Love and Beauty. Cersei seemed confident, though Catelyn secretly thought that Margaery would be the one to win the prize. The Tyrell girl shined brighter than almost any other person in King’s Landing, to the point that even Catelyn had grown to admire her. No doubt Margaery Tyrell was playing the game, but she was undyingly sweet and polite at all times that it astounded Catelyn at times. She could learn a thing or two from the younger girl, if she actually cared to charm people at court.

Cersei was the first to decide to leave. She apologized, stood up, and headed towards the door but stopped when she was standing next to Catelyn. For a moment, she said nothing, merely looking down at Tyson, and then said, “He looks like a Lannister.” She tilted her head. “But I would still be careful, if I were you.”

“It’s nice to see that you are so concerned about your new baby brother,” Catelyn replied coldly, “but the same could be said for you. It is a dangerous time to be a Queen.”

It looked as if Cersei was about to respond when she glanced at her father. Catelyn did not have to look at her lord husband to know that he was wearing a disapproving look. It was enough to silence Cersei. She bid them good day and then swept out of the room in a fury, one of the Kettleback brothers following her. Catelyn was able to relax in her chair again and looked down at Tyson. Despite Cersei’s remarks and vague threats, he was happy and none the wiser to her stress. Margaery left soon after, saying that she wanted to see how her brother Loras was doing after the first round of jousting, Tommen following her eagerly. He adored the Knight of Flowers as many young boys did. That left Catelyn alone with her husband and son. The room was quiet, despite having a baby in it.

“You look happy,” Tywin abruptly stated.

Catelyn glanced at him. “I suppose I am.”

“I haven’t seen you look like this in, well…”

“Ever?” Catelyn turned her attention back to her son. His eyes had remained bright blue, just as she’d known they would. Cersei was right when she’d said that Tyson looked like a Lannister, but he had strong Tully eyes that reminded her of Edmure. She desperately wished that her brother could see his nephew, but she knew that he could not leave the Rock after having his own child. “I don’t think I’ve felt like this in a very long time.”

“I must admit that I was…concerned that the pregnancy and having a child would push you further into depression,” Tywin told her, leaning back in his chair and looking over her carefully.

As Tyson wrapped a chubby hand around one of her fingers, Catelyn smiled faintly. “It did – when I first realized it. I was afraid to tell you – afraid of your own…happiness towards it.” She almost rolled her eyes. The day Tywin displayed happiness would be a strange day indeed. “When I realized I was with child, I felt like I’d betrayed everyone I had ever loved, but now I…I know that’s not true. How can it be, when I love him so much?” She looked at her husband again. “I don’t know if I deserve it or not, but Tyson does feel like a second chance. If the gods willed for this to happen, then I should not forsake it.”

“We have found ourselves in a very unique and strange situation, my lady,” Tywin sighed, “one that proved more fruitful and better than I could have hoped for.”

“If you had so little hope for the future of this union, then why did you push so hard for it?” Catelyn asked, almost dryly.

“I had a hunch that you might be worth it in the end,” Tywin answered. “And I was right. You were the right choice.”

Catelyn rolled her eyes. “I’m very glad to have been a good decision on your part.”

“You should know that you mean more to me than that, Catelyn,” Tywin told her. This time, she knew what was in his voice – she recognized it instantly – and it made her stop and stare at him.

She felt like she could barely breathe. “Tywin…”

The door burst open, making Catelyn jump, which startled Tyson and made him start crying. Catelyn was too busy trying to calm Tyson down to see who had come in so abruptly. Tywin stood up, his mouth pressed thin, looking more than ready to berate whoever had interrupted them, but when she glanced at him for a moment, she saw his anger slack for a moment.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the intruder said. Catelyn recognized the voice as Jaime and turned around in her seat to look at him, still instinctively trying to calm Tyson down without looking at him. “I just received urgent news.”

“What kind of news?” Tywin demanded.

“News for your wife,” Jaime replied.

Immediately Catelyn and Tywin connected eyes. She stood up from her seat and held Tyson out for Tywin to hold. He gave her an almost startled look, telling her that he did not particularly want to hold their son, but she pressed Tyson into his father’s arms anyways and then walked over to Jaime. She did not have time for Tywin’s distant parenting skills.

“From where?” Catelyn asked, sounding calmer than she felt. It had been a long time since she’d received any letters, not since the birth of Edmure’s daughter at the Rock. Tywin had allowed them to correspond every now and then. He’d known how happy it had made her to speak with her little brother and it had made things easier after the pregnancy.

“The Eyrie.”

At this, Catelyn took a step back and furrowed her brow. “What news for me could possibly come from there? Lysa is dead, so unless Robert…”

“Your nephew is fine, my lady,” Jaime told her. Though he may still be alive, Catelyn was unsure whether or not Robert Arryn would ever be fine after the murders of his father and mother and whatever else kept him sickly. Jaime had seen Robert when they had been in King’s Landing, but she was almost certain that Robert had grown worse after returning to the cold Eyrie. “It is…something else.”

“What is it then?” Catelyn felt herself bubbling with energy that she hadn’t felt since she’d realized that she was going into labor with Tyson. It was almost too much to handle. “Jaime, tell me.”

Jaime did not look away from her, not even to look at his father, as he said, “Apparently, information concerning your daughter Sansa has come up. It appears as if…well, it appears as if there is a possibility that she is alive and in the Eyrie.”

It took everything in Catelyn not to collapse. She swayed slightly, but Jaime grabbed a hold of her arm and guided her over to the chair. Though he tried to convince her to sit, she shooed him away and instead held onto the back of the chair, lost in thought. Sansa? Sansa was alive? That would mean… She glanced at Tyson in Tywin’s arms. Tyson was not her only child, her last chance at redemption. There was… There was more hope than she could have hoped for. She breathed heavily, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, and tears filled her eyes.

“Sansa, oh…” Catelyn turned to her husband. “I have to see her.”

“This may not be true,” Tywin warned her.

“I have to see for myself!”

Tywin took a deep breath and looked at his oldest son. When Jaime walked over to him, Tywin handed him Tyson. For a moment, Jaime hesitated, standing there awkwardly holding his baby brother. He’d done his best to avoid holding the child, but now he could not avoid it. “Leave us. Take him to the maids.” Jaime moved Tyson around in his arms and cast Catelyn one last unreadable glance before he strode out of the room. Almost carefully, Tywin walked over to her and then put his hands on her arms. “Do not get your hopes up about this. There have been sightings before.”

“This feels different,” Catelyn told him. “You saw the look on Jaime’s face. I know that there have been so-called sightings that you haven’t even told me about, but he felt the need to rush in here unannounced to tell me. I have to see for myself. I…I have to…”

At first, Tywin said nothing, just looked her in the eyes, and then he pulled her into his arms and rested his chin atop her head. “Then I will go with you.”

“But you have your responsibilities and duties here.”

“And I have my duties to my wife and any remaining children of hers,” Tywin added, putting a finger underneath her chin so that she would look up at him in the eyes. “You are mine and I am yours. I said the vows, same as you. We will do this together.”

Catelyn had never felt right about whatever it was between her and Tywin – she had struggled and fought with it – hated it and beleaguered against it, but now she knew that she could no longer do that. Tywin was her husband and she was his wife. Their marriage would never be perfect, would never be clean, would never be empty of hate and resentment. She would never forgive him for what he’d done. But in a strange way, after Tyson’s birth, upon hearing this news about the possibility of seeing Sansa again, Catelyn felt like she could conquer a world with him, or at least just Westeros. She could not explain how things had changed so drastically in a matter of a year and a half, but they had and it had been an excruciatingly painful journey, one that she would not wish on her enemies.

But she was different and he was different and they had changed each other, for the better. That was what a marriage was about, was it not?


End file.
